


Sparks Fly

by The_Sad_Hatter



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Adorable Bucky Barnes, Authors unique sense of humour, Catastrophic amounts of fluff, Crime Scenes, Detective AU, F/M, Grumpy Bucky Barnes, I can not stress enough that there is criminal activity and graphic descriptions of crime scenes, If Brooklyn 99 and Criminal Minds had a baby, It would look something like this, Murder, Sexy Bucky Barnes, Slow Burn, Soulmate AU, Strong gore warnings, The Avengers are NYPD, graphic gore, more angst than you can shake a stick at, very violent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 08:47:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 25,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23468644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Sad_Hatter/pseuds/The_Sad_Hatter
Summary: If you want to know if you’ve found your soulmate, it’s simple… All you have to do is kiss them. If they’re your soulmate then there will be sparks, literal sparks. You’ve seen it happen to other people and it is a sight to behold; at least you think it is. Detective Bucky Barnes is a little less enchanted with the idea.Despite your glaring differences, you and Bucky work well together. You’re good at charming witnesses, he’s good at intimidating suspects. You can run a perp down, he can knock them down. But there’s one criminal who’s eluded you both for a long time, and when Brock Rumlow rolls back into town, you and Bucky find yourselves far outside your comfort zones.***Due to the extremely problematic issues involved, this story is indefinitely on Hiatus. I wouldn't feel right continuing to write about NYPD Officers in such a way, so until I find a way to rework the story without the Police elements, this is cancelled.As a somewhat sheltered British Citizen, I was aware of the issues with Law Enforcement prior to the recent protests, but I wasn't aware of the full extent. Now that I know better, I refuse to write anything that shows them in an even remotely flattering light.***
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Comments: 463
Kudos: 488





	1. What A Load Of Falafel

It was easy to tell when a couple hadn’t had their first kiss yet, they had that nervous anticipatory energy about them. Wondering if they’d found the one, hoping that spark would be there. You leant your head against the inside of the car window, hoping along with them that it would happen for them, that they’d found the magic.

They slowed down as they approached the curb, the streetlight casting a hazy warm glow over them. With the moon shining above them and the city light shining all around, it was pretty picturesque, and oh so romantic. It felt like the kind of night where soulmates could find each other. All they had to was kiss, and they’d know for sure.

Her hands gently grazed the edges of his coat, fingertips curling around the material and grasping tightly, something to keep her steady as she rose onto her tiptoes, her lips on a collision course with his. His eyes fluttered closed as she neared, but the anticipation and fear was etched into every line on his brow, blatant in the way he held his breath.

“10 Bucks says it’s not gonna happen.” Bucky suddenly challenged, turning the windshield wipers on the clear up your view of the street.

“Don’t be so morose Barnes, it could happen for them.” You berated, not taking your eyes off of the couple.

“Could, it won’t.” He snorted.

You didn’t pay him any heed, they had as much chance as anybody did, they might strike lucky. As their lips met, you held your breath, hoping the best for them.

Nothing happened.

“Told ya. You owe me 10 bucks.” He sniggered.

You rolled your eyes at him, watching as the disappointed couple separated. They’d started out so hopeful and shiny, now they were dejected and awkward as they shrugged helplessly and shook hands, parting ways.

“I didn’t agree to your stupid bet.” You huffed, crossing your arms.

“You still owe me. Now that the shows over, how about we get back to watching the building like we’re supposed to be doing?” He suggested, swigging his now cold coffee.

In your defence, stakeouts were dull. You needed to find ways to keep yourself entertained when you were stuck in a car for hours on end, watching the same door for signs of movement. The unlucky couple had first date written all over them, and were a nice break from the monotony. You’d been rooting for them, but fate had other ideas.

“What’s your problem with True Love’s Kiss anyway?” You muttered, sipping at your own cup of cold, stale tea.

“What makes you think I have a problem with it?” He questioned.

“You’re always such a downer about it. When Wanda and Vis kissed at the Christmas party everybody lost their minds, you were the only one not clapping.”

It had been magical to see the two of them share that first kiss under the mistletoe, sparks of red electricity cascading from them; the mark of soulmates who had found one another. When they had sprung apart in shock, you hadn’t been the only one to gasp and cheer for the elated couple. Bucky just stood at the edge of the crowd, unimpressed.

“Life’s not a fairytale, doll. And I’m not the romantic type.” 

“Shhh!” You instructed, springing forward in your seat, staring intently out of the window.

“What is it?” He hissed, hand hovering between the radio and his gun, ready for whatever the situation was.

“Didn’t you hear that?” You frowned.

“Hear what?” He demanded urgently.

“That was the sound of a million hearts in Brooklyn breaking. Bucky Barnes isn’t the romantic type; Cupid _weeps_.” You cried dramatically, putting your hand to your forehead and swooning as much as you could considering you were in a car seat.

“Are you quite finished?” He deadpanned.

“Yeah, I’m good.” You snorted.

“Great, cause we have movement.” He informed you smugly.

“Oh, shit!” You exclaimed, peering out of the window.

Bucky was right. There was someone in a hoodie loitering outside the building, looking around shiftily.

“I can’t see his face, we sure it’s our guy?” You whispered.

“Maybe. Why are you whispering? We’re in a car…”

“Shut it, Bucket.” You muttered.

The suspicious figure kept glancing around, like they were looking for something, or looking out for something. You tensely drew your firearm, readying yourself. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Bucky do the same. You’d been after this guy for weeks, neither of you had any intention of letting him out of your grasp.

“Come on, just look this way.” Bucky sighed.

“We _need_ to identify him. And needs must.” You reasoned, reaching over to Buckys side of the car and slamming your palm down on the steering wheel.

Bucky’s cursing was drowned out by the blare of the car horn, and the figure instinctively jumped and looked around, straight at the car.

“It’s him! It’s Hammer!”

In less than a second you swung the door open and hurled yourself out of the car, firearm raised and pointed.

“NYPD, freeze!” Bucky bellowed, mirroring your position on the other side of the bonnet.

Hammer did not freeze, because apparently he was determined to be a thorn in your side. Instead he threw himself to the side and sprinted away, hightailing it down the nearest alleyway.

“Apple protocol.” Bucky barked.

“On it!” You yelled, already moving.

You sprinted after Hammer, your boots thudding against the concrete loudly. You made sure your NYPD badge was visible on your belt as you ran, you had a gun in your hand after all, and you didn’t want to terrify the civvies. He was a speedy little thing, you’d give him that, but you were as well. The only one on the squad who could beat your track time was Pietro Maximoff, and Justin Hammer was no Quicksilver. You kept the back of his hood in your sights as you sped down the alleyway, coming out onto a busy street. Having to duck and weave through the crowds of pedestrians should have slowed him down, but he just ploughed straight through them. It was New York, so nobody really seemed to give a damn as they stepped out of the way when they saw the chase heading for them.

“Ooooh, gimme a large basket of those, I’m coming back for them!” You yelled as you ran past a falafel cart, startling the owner of it.

Hopefully he wasn’t too startled to comply. You could smell the spices in the air and your stomach perked up as Hammer made a sharp turn down a side street.

“NYPD, you are under arrest!” Bucky announced loudly, from where he was waiting patiently for Hammer to run right into him.

“I would have gone with ‘Stop! Hammer time!’. How could you pass that up?” You huffed, running into position behind Hammer and pointing your gun as Bucky slammed him against the wall and cuffed him.

“That’s a neat trick, how’d you guys do that?” He asked, far more amused than anybody about to arrested should be.

“We’re the NYPD, and we’re really good at our jobs.” You scoffed.

That and Bucky had the Find My iPhone app, so he could track your movements and set up a trap while you gave chase.

“Justin Hammer you are under arrest Aiding and Abetting, Corporate Espionage and Grand Larceny in the first degree. You have the right to remain silent. If you give up that right, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney and to have an attorney present during questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you at no cost.” Bucky said, reciting Hammer’s rights and leading him back towards the car.

“You know, it won’t stick. Did Stark say I did this? He’s wrong, I’m….” Hammer chattered away, not stopping even when Bucky shoved him into the backseat and slammed the door.

“You did great.” He congratulated, turning to you.

“I know.”

“You could say it to me you know.” He dryly pointed out.

“Oh, sorry. I did great.” You smirked.

He rolled his eyes so hard you knew it had to have hurt and that just made you smirk harder.

“You did great as well, you always do.” You cooed playfully, sliding into the passenger seat and ignoring the still babbling perp in the back.

It was true, and you didn’t begrudge saying it.

“Another successful mission. We’re 12 and 0 now.” He noted.

“Hey, you guys really work well together. No really, I’m impressed.” Hammer interjected.

That was true as well. The two of you had an impressive track record, which was why you were paired up more and more now since Steve had been promoted to Captain. Well, professionally you worked well together anyway. Personally, not so much.

“We have to drive back that way.” You told him, pointing down the street as he started the engine.

“Why?”

“Falafel, Bucky, falafel.”

“I’m not stopping for falafel, we have a perp in the backseat!” He snapped.

“Good point… Hey Hammer, you want anything?” You asked.

“We’re not feeding the criminal.” He groaned.

“But I’m not a criminal, so why can’t I eat?” You logicked.

“Just get something from the vending machine at the station!”

“You know if I’m eating, I’m not talking right?” You pointed out.

There was a beat of silence.

“We can stop for falafel.”


	2. Three's A Crowd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to thank you all for the kudos and comments on the first chapter. I was absolutely floored by the love you showed me, and I am beyond grateful. You guys are the best readers ever, and I love you!

One of your favourite things about your job was the elation that came with marching a perp into the station. This time however, your victorious entrance into the precinct was severely dampened by a very wet blanket.

“You just caught Hammer, why’d you look like you’re about to go on a killing spree?” An amused Sam asked a glowering Bucky.

“She talks with her mouth full.” Bucky huffed as he stormed past, shoving Hammer towards the holding cells.

“That’s not true!” You objected. “It’s not, I talk between mouthfuls.” You assured Sam, perching on the edge of his desk. 

“He give you any trouble?” Sam asked, shaking his head fondly at your antics.

“Bucky or Hammer? They both have behavioural issues, but I can handle them.” You shrugged.

“I have behavioural issues? Really? That’s rich coming from you.” Bucky scoffed, re-joining the conversation sans Hammer.

You craned your neck to smirk happily at the sight of Justin Hammer silently seething in the corner of the holding cells, side-eyeing the muscled crook he was sharing space with.

“You love working with me, don’t deny it.” You teased, watching as Bucky bodily threw himself into his chair, his shoulders sagging with exhaustion and the effect of being stuck in a car all day.

“I’ll admit it just as soon as you do, doll.” He teased back challengingly.

“Of course I do, we’re the dream team. Even Hammer think so.” You grinned.

“Hey, I thought we were the dream team?” Sam gasped.

“You talking to me or Bucket?” You asked, and even Bucky frowned in Sam’s direction.

Sam’s eyes darted between the two of you like he couldn’t quite decide who he wanted to lay claim to more.

“You’ve known me longer.” Bucky reminded him.

“I fail to see how that’s a point in your favour.” You giggled, your jaw dropping in an offended gasp when he flipped you off.

“Dream trio?” Sam interjected, diffusing the tension before you could thrown the pen you’d stolen off his desk at Bucky’s head.

“What are we talking about?” Wanda called out, walking out of the elevator with Pietro.

“Sam wants to have a threesome with Bucky and me.” You announced loudly.

“Hey! No! That is not what I said!” Sam hurriedly yelped.

“That’s what it sounded like to me, isn’t that what he said?” You asked Bucky.

“That’s what I heard. I’m still disturbed. I think somebody needs to rehear the inappropriate behaviour seminar from Steve.” Bucky agreed.

“See, we both heard it. Ya filthy.” You said smugly.

“Hey, you got Hammer!” Pietro exclaimed, holding his hand out for a high five as he passed by Bucky’s desk.

“We did, turns out you can in fact ‘touch this’. That wasn’t an invitation by the way, Sammy.” You grinned.

“That’s it, off my desk you menace.” Sam huffed, shoving at your hip and shooing you away.

“I’m going, I’m going.” You sighed, winking at Wanda who was laughing into her paperwork.

“You didn’t tell me you love me, don’t think I didn’t notice.” You whispered at Bucky as you passed him.

“I hate you.” He shot back without hesitating.

You winced audibly, pouting across the bullpen at him. He didn’t even look up from his desk, steadfastly ignoring you.

“Is everything ok?” Pietro asked innocently as you took your seat at your desk, next to his.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Where’s everybody else?”

“Nat is down in the lab submitting evidence to Banner from her AIM warehouse bust, Clint’s out on a drunk and disorderly, and Vis and Cap are in a conference call with Commissioner Rhodes.”

“Alright, I’m gonna call Stark and let him know we got Hammer.” You decided, pulling out your cell.

It rang forever before someone finally answered, and unsurprisingly, that person wasn’t Tony Stark.

“Detective Fury?” Pepper Potts greeted.

“I assume Stark is too busy to take my call?” You scoffed.

He’d begged you to take the case, capitalizing on his connections to your Captain and to your father to persuade you. The least he could do was take your damn calls.

“No, he’s not busy.” Pepper told you cheerfully, and a tad smugly. “He’s being purposefully obtuse.”

“Well maybe this’ll loosen him up for you. Guess who’s in my holding cell right now?”

“You arrested Justin Hammer?” She asked sharply.

“Wait, they got him?” Tony yelled in the background. 

“You’re on loudspeaker, Detective.” Pepper informed you.

“We combed through Hammer’s phone records and emails, and made a connection between him and a known passport forger, so we publicly upped the manhunt for him to pressure him into trying to flee the country. It worked, we caught him about an hour ago. You’re welcome.”

“Tell Steve I’m sending over some new equipment for your department as a reward. You’ve earned it, Baby Fury. And if you ever get bored of playing coppers, the private sector pays well, and I pay better than most.” Tony called out.

“I’ll make sure whatever he sends is in line with NYPD regulations.” Pepper sighed.

Wanda waved at you to get your attention, pointing out something behind you. Glancing over your shoulder you saw Steve coming out of his office, perking up when he immediately spotted Hammer in holding.

“Thanks Pepper. I gotta go, Captain’s here.”

She quickly said farewell while you hung up and sped over to Bucky, arriving at the same time as Steve did on the opposite side of the desk.

“Were there any problems?” Steve asked, checking Bucky over with a quick cursory glance before he turned to you and gave you the same treatment.

“Nothing we couldn’t handle.” Bucky assured.

“Good job you two, well done.” Steve congratulated, clapping Bucky on the shoulder.

The two of them had been friends forever, and it showed in the easy way they interacted. You had known Steve as a detective before he got promoted, and you would say he was a friend, but there was always a part of you that was aware he outranked you.

“It was all Bucky, he’s the one who figured out the perp had a connection to the forger.” You shrugged amicably.

Bucky’s eyebrow twitched a little at your praise, not because it was unusual for you to give him credit, but because everything had to be a competition.

“But she’s the one who came up with the idea to smoke Hammer out by waiting for him to try and flee the country.” He pointed out, not one to be outdone.

“He’s the one who tackled him.” You offered, watching the elevator out of the corner of your eye.

“But she’s the one who chased him down.”

“And Bucky’s the one who agreed to do all the processing paperwork.” You announced, subtly stepping backwards.

“Right, but she…. Wait a minute, what?” He demanded, his hair whipping around his face as he turned to glare at you, a second too late.

“Buhyyeeee!” You called gleefully, diving into the elevator, right before the doors closed.

The last glimpse of the bullpen you got showed Steve trying and failing to look stern, while Bucky snarled in your direction. You’d pay for that in the morning, no doubt about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full credit and all my gratitude to @myoxisbroken for coming up with what to name our Detective Reader. Making her Fury's daughter was all her idea, and I LOVE it! She suggested Fury and gave me a lot of inspiration with it. Thank you, my friend! 
> 
> That particular relationship will be explored later on, but to ease minds, she is adopted, so it doesn't matter if you don't look like Fury. Reader's appearance, race, ethnicity and first name will never be specified.


	3. Face-Off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please make sure you've read the trigger warning in the tags!

It took getting up 45 minutes earlier than you usually did to make sure that the first thing Bucky Barnes saw when he exited the elevator, was your smiling face as you stood waiting for him, a coffee in hand. The sheer annoyance radiating off of him made it worth it.

“What are you doing here on time?” He snarled.

“First of all, rude, I’m never late, I’m just early today. Secondly, I got off work early and an early night. It was refreshing.” You grinned.

Thankfully looks couldn’t really kill, or you’d have been struck down on the spot by the glare he shot at you. You tentatively held up the coffee cup in your hand, turning it so he could see his name scrawled across the side of the cup.

“I brought you coffee, _good_ coffee.” You enticed.

“It’ll take more than a cup of coffee.” He grumbled.

He still took the cup though.

“I had a feeling you’d say that.” You grinned, revealing the paper bag behind your back with a flourish.

He suspiciously snatched it off of you and tore it open, his eyes lighting up when he saw the contents. You’d worked with Bucky Barnes long enough to pick up the important facts about him, the most exploitable fact being that he had a sweet tooth.

“Pain au chocolat, fresh and still warm, from Xavier’s Bakery. Now am I forgiven?” You asked sweetly.

“Fine.” He sighed. “But this is a one time get out of jail free card, this won’t work again!” He warned.

“Enjoy your brekkie, Bucket.”

He scurried over to his desk, the bag cradled in the crook of his arm like a precious newborn.

“Fury, have _you_ had breakfast?” The dulcet tone of Natasha Romanoff crooned, making you tear your eyes away from Bucky carefully unwrapping his breakfast with enthusiasm.

She was leaning against the doorframe of the conference room, her arms folded over her chest. From her expression she looked too casual, bordering on bored actually, but her eyes told a different story. There was a flicker of something in her gaze that made your spine straighten up.

“I had a bagel, why?” You asked.

“We’ve got a case, and you’re going to need a strong stomach for it.” She said, jerking her head at the room behind her to indicate you should move.

You strode into the room, pre-case adrenaline already starting to flood your system. If Natasha said it was bad, then it was _bad_.

“Night-shift officers got a callout at 4:37am to an apartment on 53rd Street, a neighbours granddaughter who was visiting from out of state heard gunshots and called 911. Two casualties, both found dead at the scene.” She explained, leaning against a table.

“What’s the catch?” You asked.

A double homicide was tragic, but not out of your comfort zone. There was more to the case than she was saying.

“The apartment is unleased, we have no ID on the vics, and we aren’t likely to get one soon unless they have DNA or dentals on record. Fingerprints were burned off, faces were mutilated.”

“So it’s not a B&E gone wrong, it was likely premeditated.” You deduced.

“Crime techs are cataloguing the scene as we speak, you want in on this with me?” She asked.

“A double murder mystery? Absolutely!”

~~~23 Minutes Later~~~

“When you said their faces had been mutilated, it didn’t occur to you to give me a teensy bit more detail?” You huffed, blowing up a pair of rubber gloves so you could snap them on easier.

“I didn’t want to give too much away. I wanted your impressions of the scene.” She shrugged.

You moved carefully across the room, nodding hello to the Crime Scene techs as you moved closer to the first body. It was male, roughly 6’2, 185-190 pounds, Caucasian and…

“First impressions? Their faces have been sawed off. They don’t have faces Natasha.” You snarked.

You’d seen some pretty gross things on the force but this definitely made top five.

“Where’s the… ya know, skin?” You grimaced, looking around the room.

There was plenty of blood in the empty apartment, but no sign of the missing pieces of the corpses.

“We haven’t found them yet.” She explained.

“Well if anyone finds some ham in the fridge, do _not_ make a sandwich with it.” You warned loudly.

If you were going to deal with horrific crimes on a daily basis, you needed to develop a dark sense of humour about it. It kept the horror and trauma from burrowing too deep into your psyche, gave you a line of defence to keep your brain safe. You couldn’t escape from the job unscathed, but the damage didn’t have to be irreparable.

“Fingerprints looked they were burned off with acid a long time ago.” You noted, studying the hands. “Is it the same for the other vic?” You called out to the nearest tech.

“Yeah, the injuries are at least a year old. This wasn’t part of the ritual.”

“So we can deduce that these guys were likely criminals, which explains why the faces were removed.” Natasha said.

“Still, there are easier and less gross ways to make sure we couldn’t identify them. This was definitely personal, and sadistic.” You replied.

Something wasn’t right about the scene, something other than the violent crime. You carefully inspected both corpses, but didn’t find what you were looking for. The apartment was completely bare, all wooden floors and white walls, which made it easy to search as you walked around it purposefully.

“Who called it in?” You asked Natasha as you passed by her on your third loop of the scene.

“Amelia Jones, 22 years old from Wyoming. She’s visiting her grandmother for the week, she called it in. She’s just up the stairs.”

The apartment buildings were originally two storey townhouses that had been converted to smaller apartments. They were nice, you’d consider looking at the empty one if there weren’t any horrible murders in it.

“I want to talk to her.” You decided, carefully pulling off your gloves and disposing of them in the bag a techie held out to you.

Natasha did the same, and you both accepted a squirt of anti-bacterial gel from the tech before you left the apartment by the front door and headed up the short flight of stairs. The front door was open and more officers were milling about in the corridors, being served tea by what you assumed was the grandmother of the girl you wanted to talk to. 

Amelia Jones was young - college age, Caucasian, and shaken up. She was pushed into the corner of the plump flowery sofa, her knees drawn up to her chest. Her wide eyes flickered up to watch you as you approached, Natasha by your side but letting you take the lead. Nat was good like that, trusting you enough to let you follow up on whatever hunch you were clearly having. She’d demand an explanation after of course, but in the mean-time she let you do your thing.

“Miss Jones? I’m Detective Fury, this is my partner, Sergeant-Detective Romanoff. Do you mind if we ask you a couple of questions?” You asked softly, taking a seat on the sofa but leaving enough space between you so as not to crowd her.

“I’ve already told the other officers, like three times now.” She sniffled.

“I know, I’m sorry, but we need you to talk to us as well.” You said sympathetically, but firmly. “How many gunshots did you hear?” You asked before she had the chance to try and fob you off again.

You weren’t being harsh for no reason, you just knew from experience that witnesses needed structure and order. Trauma had a way of rattling the brain, and it was you job to get information out of those skittish thoughts.

“Two. There were two.” She said.

“How did you know they were gunshots?” You asked.

“I… I heard them?” She frowned, thrown off by the question.

“What I mean is how did you know for sure they were gunshots, and not fireworks, or cars backfiring.” You pressed.

“My dad hunts, I’ve heard gunshots before, a lot of them.” She explained.

“So you are absolutely sure, you heard two gunshots?” You clarified.

“Yes. Yes, I am sure.” She said, and you believed her.

“And how long after the shots were fired did you call 911?” You checked.

“A minute? I listened for anymore noise and grabbed my phone straight away.” She answered, chewing her lip as she thought it over.

She was nervous, but not unreasonably so for someone who had been so close to a grisly murder. She seemed clear-headed, enough so that you didn’t have reason to doubt she was right about the gunshots or the time.

“Thank you for your time, that’s all I needed to know for now.” You said emphatically, getting up and nodding to Nat to let her know you were done.

“I want her hunting background confirmed, but she seemed pretty damn sure she heard gunshots.” You said lowly to Nat as you walked out of the apartment.

“Officers arrived on the scene less than four minutes after she called it in. Four minutes isn’t enough time to disfigure one body, let alone two. The victims were already dead when the shots were fired.” She deduced.

“Exactly, so I have three questions. What was the actual cause of death, why fire a gun at all, and where the hell did the bullets go?”

“There were no bullet holes in the floors or the walls, that’s why you were walking around the scene so curiously.” She realised.

You nodded and in the process saw someone on the lower floor coming in the buildings front door.

“No! No, no, no!” You exclaimed, speed walking down the stairs.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes.” Bucky deadpanned in the most monotone voice.

“Get out of my crime scene!” You hissed.

Natasha coughed lightly from behind you.

“Get out of Romanoff’s crime scene.” You amended.

“I have every right to be here.” He harrumphed, rolling his eyes at you and flashing his detective’s badge mockingly.

“Nooo, you’ll ruin my fun.”

He raised an eyebrow at that, very deliberately peering through the doorway at the macabre scene inside, and looking back at you judgementally.

“You usually have a lot of fun with corpses, doll?”

“Oh, you’re about to find out, Bucket.” You hissed through your teeth.

“You’re about as terrifying as a sleepy kitten, you know that, right?” He scoffed.

“Nat invited me onto this case, it’s mine and you can’t have it. Double murder mystery Barnes, you aren’t taking this from me.”

“Tough luck, _kitten_. Steve wants everyone on this, he wants it solved before Major Crimes can swoop in, or worse… the feds.” He said, oh so reasonably.

He nodded at something behind you and you craned your neck to see Steve being caught up by Natasha. Annoyingly, you knew Bucky was right.

“Ugh, fucking Major Crimes. This is why we can’t have nice things.” You pouted.

“Cheer up, you said it yourself, we work well together. I’ll help you solve your mystery before it gets taken away from you.”

“Fine. There were two shots fired, but no bullet holes in the corpses or the apartment. The vics were both pretty big guys, so we’re looking at more than one perp. I think one of those perps might have our missing bullets.” You sighed.

“You think they either got into an argument, or it was a set up?”

“Gotta be. Which means they probably didn’t leave together. We need to canvas the neighbourhood, see if anyone saw or heard anything suspicious or out of place. You wanna help? Start knocking on doors.” You suggested.

“Good idea.” Steve said, from right behind you, and you let high pitched ‘yip’ in response to being snuck up on.

“Brooklyn’s finest, ladies and gentlemen.” Bucky snorted.

“Don’t sneak up on people at the scene of a murder!” You berated, immediately realising who you were talking to. “Sir…” You tacked on.

“Sorry, I didn’t realise you were so jumpy.” Steve apologised.

“Should we be arming people who are so jumpy?” Bucky asked.

“You know what, I’m gonna go canvas.” You grumbled, stomping away.

“I had better come with you, in case you get spooked by a doorbell or something.” Bucky called out, jogging after you.

“It’s not my fault! He’s just really sneaky for someone so tall.” You defended.

“I know Kitten, I know.” Bucky ‘soothed’ mockingly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this story is the one I have had to do the most research on. Seriously, I worked so freaking hard on this, so I really hope you like it! 😭😭😭


	4. Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang

People were weird. You never knew what kind of people would answer the doors you knocked on, they could be mean, creepy, horny, odd, or all four. Chances were though, whoever they were, they hated cops. Not that you blamed them at all.

“Hello, I’m Detective Fury, this is Detective Bucket. Were you home between four and five am this morning?” You asked politely when a middle-aged man swung his front door open and scowled at you.

“Yeah, I was sleepin’, didn’t hear or see nothin’” He snapped, slamming the door in your face.

“Thank you for your time!” You yelled.

You sighed and walked back to the front gate with Bucky, opening it with a dramatic flourish and bowing him through it. 

“It’s unlikely we’ll find anything, we might be better off looking at other avenues.” He said, ignoring your antics. 

“We have an APB out in all the emergency rooms for gunshot wounds, and the tech department is combing through all local surveillance footage. Without a positive ID on our victims all we can do is pound the pavement, knock on doors and hope for the best.” You groaned.

This was always the worst part of a case, when you didn’t know where your leads were. There was nothing to indicate which direction to start chasing down, and that was boring. You were bored. It didn’t help that Bukcy wasn’t exactly one for small talk.

“Hey, so did you hear about what happened in the 68? Couple perps in the holding cell starting making out, next you know, sparks everywhere! Imagine finding your soulmate in a cell!” You sniggered.

“As accurate metaphors go, that’s a good one.” He scoffed, making you frown over at him. “Soulmates are life sentences, you’re cuffed to someone forever.” He explained when you didn’t get it.

“That’s… what, no, that’s not what soulmates are!” You argued.

“Oh, do explain it to me.” He sighed, knowing full well he didn’t actually have a choice in the matter.

“It’s a best friend, someone perfect for you, to make sure you never have to be alone again. Someone to look after you and keep you safe and happy, and to share everything with. Someone you get to look after, someone you can make happy. It’s not a curse.” You told him with utter conviction.

“You’re one of those sappy soulmate searchers, aren’t you? God, I bet you even go to those kissing booths.” He grimaced.

“Ok no, those things are unhygienic. I’m not desperate to find mine, I have faith that we’ll find each other when we’re ready.” You said.

They were out there, somewhere. One day you would find them and sparks would fly.

“So you’ve never kissed someone, hoping for sparks?” He asked disbelievingly.

“Not a stranger.” You said defensively.

“You do you, kitten. Me? I’d rather not be subject to the whims of the universe.” He decreed.

“Wait, so you just don’t date… like, at all? No wonder you’re so uptight.” You teased.

“I date. Trust me, I do just fine in that area.” He sassed back.

“What if you accidentally find your soulmate thoughohmygod, you don’t kiss anyone, do you?” You gasped.

If he dated but didn’t want to find his soulmate, it was the only possible explanation.

“That’s between me and my dates, so unless you’re going to buy me dinner, start knocking on doors.” He taunted, stopping by the next gate.

You’d buy him Chinese if it meant having your curiosity sated but he might get the wrong idea.

“You take this one, I’m tired of having doors slammed in my face.”

“I thought you’re supposed to be good with people, kitten?” Bucky snorted, opening the gate and stepping down the garden path.

“I’m better with them when I’m out of uniform.“ You sighed, coming to terms with the new nickname because apparently it was sticking around.

You realised how your words had sounded when looked back over his shoulder, quirking an eyebrow at you as he looked you over.

“Yeah, that’ll make them friendlier all right.” He snorted.

“Huh?” You cocked your head in confusion as you trailed after him, trying to figure out whether he’d just insulted or complimented you.

You didn’t get the chance to ask before he knocked on the next door, so alas, it would remain a mystery.

“Good morning ma’am, I’m Detective Barnes. This is my colleague, Detective Garfield. How are you this morning?” He smiled sweetly, eyes twinkling at the little old lady who had answered the door.

You were so caught up in his blatant attempts at charming the potential witnesses that you almost missed his little cat-jab. Whatever, you did hate Mondays, and you loved lasagne. You’d been called worse.

“Oh hello Detective, is something wrong? Am I in trouble?” She asked nervously, even as she tried to meet Bucky’s eyes.

“Of course you’re not in trouble ma’am, we were just wondering if you were home in the early hours of this morning. We’re looking for anybody who may have seen or heard anything unusual.” He explained.

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at how thick he was laying it on.

“Well, I take my hearing aids out to sleep, my hearing isn’t what it used to be you know. It’s better than it was when I was sick with the cold last month, but it isn’t as good as it was when I was younger. I started losing it when I was 76, no, 77. I got these hearing aids when I was 79, which was two years ago. They’re very good, I can hear very well with them in, except when I had that cold last month.”

“Right. But you take them out to sleep?” You prodded, trying to get her back on the right track.

“I do, yes. Sometimes I like to roll over onto my side when I’m sleeping and they aren’t very comfortable when you’re sleeping. I’m not a very heavy sleeper you see, and if something wakes me up I just can’t get my head back down. So I take them out before I go to bed and I don’t put them back in until the morning.”

“So you wouldn’t have heard anything from the street then?” Bucky clarified patiently.

“I’m afraid not, but I do get up early. I woke up at… let’s see, it was light but it wasn’t bright and that pigeons were already awake because I heard them when I put my hearing aids in, so it must have been at just after 6am. Is that of any use to you?” She asked.

“You know what, it may be.” You crowed excitedly, shooting an excited look at a perplexed Bucky. “Would you mind going through your morning with Detective Charming here? He’s very thorough, so leave nothing out. That is, if you don’t mind? It could take a while. You two will have to sit together for some time…” You said innocently.

Bucky realised what you were up to and had no choice but to smile through his teeth at the chatty woman, but his eyes were fixed on you and they promised death, slow and painful death.

“I would be happy to, please do come in Detective. Do you like tea? I still have a bag I only used a little while ago, it should be good.” She offered as Bucky reluctantly followed her through the front door.

“I’m just going to make some very important phonecalls, you two have fun! And behave!” You called after them, skipping down the steps gleefully.

That would teach him for trying to outdo you, and bonus, the woman would get some company and an ear to talk off. Win/win. Except for Bucky, but who cared about Bucky?

You milled about on the sidewalk, making use of the reprieve from canvassing to check some emails on your phone. Aside from the dull work related ones, there were about 30 from Stark, mainly asking for pictures of Hammer in his current predicament, and an apology one from Pepper that came with a lunch invitation. There was one from Maria Hill, asking how you were and chastising you for not keeping in touch more often. You ignored it, she already knew how you were. She was CIA; she knew more about you than you did. It made you think you should send your dad a text though; it had been a few days since you’d spoken to him.

And maybe, possibly, if you updated him on your current case then he may pull some strings to keep the feds off your back.

You had just opened a blank text, when by chance you happened to glance up at your surroundings. If you hadn’t, you’d never have noticed the man walking directly towards you. As it was, you only saw him when he was a few steps away. The second your eyes landed on him, alarm bells started ringing in your head. There was nothing about him that screamed danger. He was an absolutely average looking person, from the slightly orange tan to the gelled back black hair. But as he approached and reached inside his jacket, your whole body flooded with adrenaline.

You had lost count of the amount of times that someone had pulled something out of their pocket and it turned out to be harmless. All evidence to the contrary, you weren’t jumpy. Somewhere in the back of your mind you were constantly aware that danger was always present and lurking, but you weren’t ruled by that knowledge. But this time was different. This time the hair on the back of your neck stood on end and you found yourself reaching out to grab his wrist as he withdrew his hand from his coat.

Your fingers closed in a tight grip around his wrist at the same second you saw the gun in his hand, and you looked up into his frightfully cold eyes.

“Rumlow sends his love.” He hissed, shaving your body backwards, away from his.

The only thing in your mind was that name, repeating over and over and echoing as you stumbled, all your years of training screeching to a halt in your brain as he brought the gun up and pointed at you.

_Rumlow._

With a clear view straight down the barrel aimed at your head, you yanked your thoughts back into place almost painfully. You didn’t have time to unholster your gun, aim and fire. You couldn’t dive out of the way, there were pedestrians behind you and any one of them could get hurt or killed if you moved. But you couldn’t stand there and let this man execute you.

_Rumlow._

As his finger squeezed the trigger, you did two things simultaneously. First, you screamed Bucky’s name louder than you had ever screamed anything. Second, you dove forwards, towards the gun.

_Rumlow._

It was like a nightmare where everything moved too slow, and it felt like you were wading through syrup as your entire body weight slammed into his gun-wielding arm and you pushed down. The deafening bang echoed, the shot firing and you didn’t know where the bullet had landed. Had it hit the concrete like you’d intended, or had it hit you?

_Rumlow._

The perp snarled and flung his arm aside, sending you careening into the nearest wall. Maybe it hurt, it probably hurt, but you felt nothing. All you knew was you were backed against a wall, which was bad news for you, but it meant there was nobody else in the line of fire now. He spun around, extending his arm to aim the gun at you for the final time.

_Rumlow._

The final gunshot was the loudest yet, and suddenly all you could see was red. Scarlet droplets spinning through the air, crimson splatters on the sidewalk.

_Rumlow._

The perp hit the ground, gun falling limply from his hand. His cold eyes grew colder still as life left them, and a thin rivulet of blood trailed down his forehead, leaking from the bullet hole in the centre of his skull. You couldn’t look away, you just stared as someone hurtled towards you, kicking the gun out of the dead mans hand.

_Rumlow._

Only then did you look up. Bucky stood between you and the corpse, his gun still held up and his blue eyes fixed on you. His mouth was moving, asking you something you couldn’t hear. You didn’t know what he wanted to know, but you could tell him the thing he needed to know.

“Rumlow.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've gotta ask, are you still enjoying this story? 
> 
> There's always a decline in numbers after the first chapter, but it's especially drastic with this story compared to others. I'm just a bit worried. I'm really loving this one, but I want you guys to love it as well and if you aren't, I'd try to fix it. 😬😬😬


	5. Ghostbusters

Someone had tried to kill you, and not in a spur of the moment tense situation. This had been a planned, pre-mediated, assassination attempt. It was only luck, and Bucky Barnes, that had saved your life.

Everything after the moment you gave voice to the name taking over your brain was a blur. You’d gasped out Rumlow’s name and then just mentally checked out. At some point Natasha and Steve had arrived, then the rest of the squad, and a sea of uniformed officers. You couldn’t recall seeing anybody cover your assailants body with a white sheet, only that one moment you’d been unable to tear your eyes away from the body and then suddenly you couldn’t see it anymore. You didn’t remember the ambulance arriving, or being made to sit inside it. You didn’t remember being given the all clear, but you must have gotten it, because you were sitting on the sidewalk now, and nobody was stopping you.

The only thing you had remained steadfastly aware of throughout the whole ordeal, was Bucky. He hadn’t left your side, not even for a second, and you knew this because you had a death grip on his forearm. The feel of the unyielding metal beneath your fingertips was the only connection you had to reality, the one tether that stopped you from giving into fear and panic. His metal arm was your only port in the storm, and you clung to it like a child refusing to be parted from her precious stuffed toy.

Maybe it was because it was a symbol of his strength. Nothing could defeat Bucky. Not criminals, not bullets, not even war. He might get knocked down, he could be hurt, he could be broken apart, but he could not be defeated. He came back stronger, adapting and overcoming everything. He’d literally been torn apart, and it hadn’t stopped him, just slowed him down for a minute until he readjusted. And he had readjusted, and then he’d fought the whole system for his right to serve in the NYPD. He had fought for the chance to protect and serve.

Or maybe you were clinging to his arm simply because he had saved your life, when you’d been unable to save yourself. You had fucked up and it could have cost you everything if he hadn’t come running when you screamed his name. You called him names, pulled silly pranks on him, drove him around the bend, but he had your back anyway.

Maybe it was both those things. Maybe you were clinging to Bucky because he was a saviour, and today he had been yours.

You finally blinked, the shock crawling back and loosening it’s icy grip from your mind. Turning your head to look at him, you found yourself looking straight into his eyes. He was sat next to you on the ground, his free arm slung across his knees and his torso twisted so he was facing you.

“Welcome back.” He whispered softly, not a single hint of judgment in his tone.

It was too soft, too gentle, too quiet. In an effort to prove that you were ok, that you didn’t need to be wrapped in cotton wool, you said the first thing that popped into your head.

“Thanks for shooting that guy in the head for me. Guess you do like me after all.” You said blankly.

“Jesus Christ.” He muttered, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. “You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah but thanks to you I’m not a dead idiot.”

He opened his eyes and frowned at you, shaking his head ever-so-slightly.

“We’re partners. I’m always going to have your back.” He promised.

You knew that. It’s why your fingertips were still digging into his forearm so strongly that he’d have bruises if it were his flesh arm.

“He said ‘Rumlow sends his love’.” You whispered hoarsely.

He shifted slightly and placed his flesh hand over yours, trying to comfort you from the fear of your shared ghosts.

“Rumlow is dead. He blew himself up when Steve cornered him.”

“What if he didn’t? Hydra has connections Bucky, they could have faked it. The body was burned beyond recognition, someone could have faked the records. What if he’s been out there this whole time, biding his time?”

“And what if that’s what someone wants you to think? Hmm? It wouldn’t take a lot of digging for someone to find out about Rumlow, or a genius to figure out it was a sore spot for us.” Bucky argued.

That… that was a fair point. A quick google search could tell any curious or interested party about the Precincts history. There were news articles about renowned Hydra gang, and all the bent cops they’d had on payroll. Your name would pop up next to Rumlow’s in more than one article, you’d worked and solved many a case with him before he’d shown his true colours.

If somebody wanted to get in your head, or under your skin, then using Rumlow’s name was a sure-fire and obvious way to do that. And it had worked flawlessly. As soon as you’d heard his name you had been so thrown that you’d been an easy target.

“Yeah… I guess.” You agreed, swallowing thickly.

“I don’t know who he was, or why he came after you, but we will find out. I swear to you, I will find out who did this.” Bucky vowed.

You heard the worry that was hidden between the lines, what he wasn’t saying in fear of overwhelming you. Whoever the gunman was, you didn’t know if he had acted on his own or if someone had sent him. _Somebody_ had targeted you, question was had Bucky put a bullet in that somebody, or in one of their henchmen?

Tentative footsteps alerted you to somebody approaching behind you and you tensed up, but when Bucky only calmly nodded in greeting, you settled back down.

“Hi.” Wanda said quietly, kneeling down beside you.

“Hey.” You tried to offer her a smile but it didn’t dim the worry in her eyes.

She had a bottle of water in her hand, which she offered to you. You accepted it gratefully and took a few sips, wincing as it trickled down your throat. With the adrenaline and shock wearing off, you could feel all the aches and pains starting to flare to life. Your throat was raw from how loudly you had screamed for Bucky, and your left arm and ribs were aching from where you’d been slammed into the wall.

“How are you holding up?” Wanda asked you, but she looked at Bucky when she asked it.

“I’m alright.” You sighed.

Bucky must have signalled you weren’t lying, because you wouldn’t have believed you in that moment, but she accepted it.

“Steve wants you to come back to the station. We need to take your statement, both of you.” She explained apologetically.

“It can wait until the morning.” Bucky decided, his tone brokering no room for argument.

So obviously you argued.

“No, I wanna go. I want to just get right into it.” You said.

“You don’t have to, nobody would blame you if you needed to rest first.” Wanda tried to assure you.

“I’d blame me. I’m fine, really. So someone tried to kill me, so what? It’s not the first time I’ve been shot at, and… have you met me? It’s not gonna be the last.”

Wanda looked vaguely horrified for a second, and then begrudgingly amused as she fought a smirk. Bucky however, completely lost it. He snorted so loudly he nearly choked, and that set you off. The sheer absurdity of the situation only seemed to make it worse, and once you started laughing you couldn’t stop. Wanda watched with wide eyes as you doubled over, wheezing unattractively while Bucky guffawed along beside you, and eventually she broke as well. The three of you sat there in a row on the sidewalk, laughing until there were tears in your eyes.

Natasha and Steve walked over, the red-head shooting a very judgemental look at you all while Steve just looked completely perplexed. 

“What’s going on?” The befuddled Captain asked.

“Nothing. Not a damn thing.” You gasped, trying to get yourself back under control.

“Alright, let’s get you back to the station. We have an active crime scene and he Comedy Club here are starting to draw attention.” Natasha warned, holding her hand out to you to help you up.

You looked down at your hands, a water bottle in one, and Bucky arm in the other. You needed to let go of one.

“Come on Kitten, I’ll drive you back to the precinct.” Bucky said.

One by one, your prised your fingers from their deathgrip on him. You didn’t need to hold on so tight, after all, he had your back no matter what. The whole 66 did. Whoever was behind the attack, whether a lone gunman or something more nefarious, they had played their one card. Next time, if there was a next time, you wouldn’t be caught off guard. Bucky was right, Rumlow was dead and couldn’t hurt anybody ever again.

You weren’t afraid of no ghosts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WEEWOO WEEWOO! DOUBLE CHAPTER DAY! 
> 
> I'm bringing back daily updates. I'm sorry, I just really really love this story and the way people are responding to it. I'm enthused, and the love you've shown me has me pumped and enthused so I just HAD to write out another chapter. 
> 
> I just love y'all so freaking much. And Bucket and Fury (Ship name, Fucket?) I love them too! 💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖


	6. A Rose By Any Other Name

The first thing you noticed when you walked into the bullpen was the gigantic, ostentatious bouquet of crimson roses on your desk. Honestly, it was the first thing you would notice if you were on the international space station, it was that eye-catching. Hell, could smell it from where you were standing, and you weren’t even past the elevator yet. You sped walk past your desk, side-eyeing the flowers judgementally.

“Um, hi… what the hell?” You whisper hissed at Vis.

“They were delivered for you about ten minutes ago.” He explained, looking up to see you pointing at the offending vase. “There is a card, perhaps you should read it if you’re confused.” He added with a hint of sass.

Harrumphing lightly under your breath you stomped over to them, digging through the colourful petals for the promised explanation. It was there, just like Vision had said it was. You tugged the thick printed card free and turned it over, trying to decipher the loopy calligraphy.

_Heard you had a rough day, hope this makes you feel better._

_From, B x_

“Are you kidding me?” You huffed, looking up and glaring at your not so secret admirer.

You could see him through the open door of the break room, pouring a mug of coffee from the jug and studiously ignoring you. He didn’t grace you with his attention until you’d stormed into the room, subtly kicking the door closed behind you.

“A rough day? Flowers? Really?” You sighed, holding up the card.

He sipped his coffee, taking his time with it before he deigned to answer.

“Saw you downing painkillers earlier, and rubbing your temples. Figured it was my fault for letting you drink so much wine last night, wanted to do something nice for ya.” He shrugged.

“But flowers, Brock? That’s not exactly subtle.” You scoffed.

He smirked, setting the mug down on the table and advancing on you with slow, deliberate movements.

“We’ve been to dinner twice now, and you’re still not ready to kiss me and prove I’m right. I’m too impatient for subtle, sweetheart.”

“ _If_ you are right, I want to be able to form my feelings of my own accord. I don’t need sparks dictating my heart for me.” You argued softly, your breath catching in your chest as he backed you into the wall.

Rumlow sent tingles of _something_ through you, there was no denying that, but that wasn’t proof enough for you. If you were going to be tied to someone for the rest of your life, you wanted to know how you felt about them _before_ fate closed in.

“I don’t need fate to tell me that you’re made for me, I already know it. Why not just kiss me and prove it?” He coaxed, leaning in until there was no space between you.

His proximity was making you dizzy, the sharp scent of his aftershave cloying your airway and making it hard to breathe. It was too difficult to tell if what you were feeling was lust, let alone the butterflies of love. He was definitely attractive, with his sharp jaw and dark eyes, and his strong, imposing figure. He was friendly, and he was funny, and there was a hint of mystery around him sometimes, a flicker of something that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. He intrigued you, and he made you feel some sort of way, but you just couldn’t figure out if that was a good or a bad thing. You were willing to explore it though.

“I’m not ready.” You protested weakly, your brain to muddled for the words to have much weight.

Maybe you were ready. Maybe it was time to find out one way or the other.

“But I am. Just say the word sweetheart.” He groaned, almost desperately.

Almost imperceptibly you nodded, and then his lips were pressed against yours before you could say or so anything else. You froze, waiting for it to happen.

But nothing did. His lips felt rough and coarse against your own, and they just didn’t fit right. That was when you knew, even before the lack of sparks. He pulled back with a deeply disappointed expression, and all you could feel was strange relief.

“Well damn.” He sighed.

~~~Two Years Later~~~

You stared blankly into the break room, spacing out and remembering the day you had come to be so thankful for. It wasn’t long after that unfateful kiss that the whole world had been tilted on it’s axis, and Hydra had sprung forth from the shadows. Friends were revealed to be enemies and everything changed, forever. Double Agents were found within every major law enforcement branch across the country and even beyond, and your little precinct was no different. You hadn’t been there to see Rumlow uncloaked, you’d been publicly mourning the * **not** * dead director of the CIA. Your father had been the first target Hydra had tried to take out, and though they were unsuccessful, they didn’t know it at that point.

You remembered with clarity the exact moment you had found out who Brock really was. That was the moment you started trusting fate, because it hadn’t tied your soul to that monster’s. You vowed there and then that you would put your faith into the soulmate bond, absolutely and unquestionably. You would wait for the spark that told you who you were meant for, because your own judgment couldn’t be trusted. The universe had been kind enough to not make Brock Rumlow your soulmate, and he had been stupid enough to blow himself up.

“We need to start by figuring out why anybody would want to kill you. I have the Maximoff’s combing through your old case files and checking if anyone you put away has been released recently.” Steve said, breaking you out of your reverie.

“Hmm?” You looked up at him, trying to pretend you hadn’t been spacing out.

You’d given your statement several times but you weren’t allowed to leave the station yet, not while there was a potential killer out there gunning for you. Not that you could go home anyway, there were cops checking your building and street out for security threats. The fact that your assailant had known enough about you to bring up Rumlow had put everybody on edge. It showed dedication and that upped the threat.

“We don’t have an ID on the gunman yet, Bruce is running his dentals through the system to see if we get a hit but it might be worth putting a call into your ‘contacts’. CIA has resources we just don’t have access to.” He suggested.

It wasn’t exactly a secret that your dad was the Director of the CIA, but only between trusted officers.

“I am _not_ calling them. No way, no how, not on your life. Or mine.” You stated emphatically.

“Don’t be stubborn.” Steve sighed.

“Pot, meet kettle. And if we involve them then we’ll lose all control here. I’m not letting him take me off this case.”

“Ok, first of all, they’re going to find out anyway. Second of all, you’re not _on_ this case.”

“The hell I’m not!” You interrupted, aghast at the mere idea you weren’t allowed to work your own attempted assassination.

“You’re not. You’re too close to it to be objective, and you’re understandably traumatised. You’re not working any cases until you’ve had a psyche eval.” He told you commandingly, switching from your friend Steve to Captain Rogers in the blink of an eye.

“I’m not traumatised! And I can be objective.” You insisted.

“You know the drill, Fury. Any officer involved in a traumatising event in the field is subject to peer review, and if that comes back…”

“Hang on! Peer review? PEER REVIEW? You’re taking me off the case because someone said I couldn’t handle it?” You snarled, springing to your feet.

Steve and his ‘we’re a team, we take care of each other’ attitude had just bit you in the ass. Peer review was code for Bucky had grassed you up, and you knew it.

“I’m gonna kill him. That interfering son of bitch!” You raged, yanking the door open.

“Ah yes, I can see how objective you are.” Steve sassed as you stormed out of the office, heading straight for the source of your ire.

Bucky was at his desk, scribbling something in a file, and he didn’t seem at all phased when he saw you blazing towards him.

“BARNES! WHAT THE FUCK?!” You screeched.

“What now?” He sighed.

“I didn’t say it was Bucky who reviewed you.” Steve pointed out, having followed you.

“Was it?” You asked through clenched teeth.

“It was.” Bucky answered calmly.

“So when you said you ‘had my back’, what you meant was you were just picking out where to shove your knife?”

“This is me having your back. There’s a difference between putting yourself in the line of fire, and being ambushed. Someone tried to kill you in cold blood and if you’re fine with that, then that’s even more reason to be worried.” He rebutted patiently.

“Don’t you be reasonable with me, I’m pissed at you!” You huffed.

“Be pissed at me all you want, Kitten, you know you would give the same review if the situation were reversed.”

“He’s right.” Natasha put in.

You glanced over at her, she was typing something on her computer and not even paying attention to your tantrum. In fact, nobody was paying an attention to you except for Bucky and Steve. Everyone was very studiously and deliberately looking anywhere but at you.

They thought you were spiralling because of what happened. Nobody wanted to look because nobody wanted to make you feel worse. You groaned and bodily threw yourself into the chair next to Bucky’s desk, wincing slightly when it jolted your tender ribs.

“Damn it, I’m not ok, that’s obvious. But I’m not freaking out, I’m traumatised, I’m still capable of doing my damn job.” You said.

“Then you should have no problems passing a psyche eval.” Steve said smugly.

You slid down in the chair until you vaguely resembled a discarded pile of laundry. You were sulking, but you felt like you’d earned the right to sulk.

“Fine.” You eventually agreed.

The whole precinct let out a collective sigh of relief.

“Good god, can everybody stop treating me like I’m about to crumble now?” You bitched.

“I know you’d rather be on the case yourself, but you can trust us. We’ll figure it out and make sure justice is served, I can promise you that.” Sam finally said.

“I know. I do trust you, I just… Yeah, alright, I’ll stay out of it.” You agreed, backing down.

For now.

“I’m going home. It’s been a long fucking day.” You decided, unfolding yourself out of the chair.

“I don’t want you going home. You were targeted, by someone who’s motives we don’t know. You live alone which puts you at risk, even if we post officers outside.” Steve objected.

“Ugh, alright. I’ll crash at Natasha’s. Nat, can I crash at yours?”

“Sorry Fury, the pipes in my building are being replaced. I’m staying at Clint’s.” She said apologetically.

“You can stay with me?” Sam offered. “My building has a doorman, and more than one detective lives in it. Bucky’s right up the hall and the twins are two floors down.”

“Though, Bucky has a spare room and you don’t.” Wanda added.

Bucky spun around in his chair to frown at her before he turned to you speculatively and shrugged.

“Oh no.” You whimpered.

“That’s the safest option. You’ll be well protected.” Steve mused.

“Oh no.” You repeated, for posterity.

Bucky pushed his chair back and got to his feet with a sinister smirk.

“I guess it’s settled. Come on, I’ll take you home… _roomie_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD, THEY WERE ROOMMATES! 
> 
> Thank you for all your amazing responses to this so far. I have found my confidence wavering when it comes to writing recently, but I'm choosing to ignore my brain and listen to you instead. 💖💖💖


	7. Picture Perfect

“Can I braid your hair?”

The question made him falter as he reached out to open the door, and instead he frowned over his shoulder at you.

“It’s not a sleepover, you’re here so I can keep an eye on you and make sure you don’t go off on half-cocked mission to hunt down your would be killer.” He scoffed, pushing the door open and holding it open for you.

“I thought I was here so I was safe from said would-be-killer?” You wondered.

You should have realised you were being babysat. In hindsight it was obvious.

“Same difference.”

“Rude. I’m serious though, can I braid your hair?” You pressed as you followed him through the main doors of the towering apartment block.

He shot you a semi-alarmed look, shaking his head in exasperation.

“So this is how the other half lives…” You stage whispered, looking around the foyer of Bucky’s apartment building with awe.

“You’ve been here before. You were here last week! I saw you in the elevator.” He said as he pushed to button for the aforementioned elevator.

You’d been at Wanda and Pietro’s for dinner, because Wanda had found out you had eaten nothing but takeout for at least a month. She’d practically dragged you home and force fed you vegetables.

“Let me make fun of you and your fancy apartment in peace.” You huffed.

“It’s not fancy.” He sighed, shepherding you into the lift.

“It has a doorman.” You waved at the man in question, a greying older man who was half asleep at the front desk. “And a foyer. And a working elevator.” You pointed out.

“I’m guessing your apartment has none of those things?” He asked, leaning casually against the wall as the elevator started to rise.

“It does not. It has a bathtub in the bedroom and comes with excellent views of the kitchen of the Chinese restaurant next door.” You scoffed.

“Wait, what?”

“It’s not bad, actually. They pass me food through the window, so no complaints.” You shrugged.

“Why are you living in a Chinese restaurant?” He asked as the elevator jolted to a halt and the doors swooshed open.

“Next to, not in.” You corrected.

It was an important distinction. You loved your eccentric little apartment and your culinary neighbours. It wasn’t much, but it was home. You were excited to see Bucky’s home though, and you bounced excitedly on the balls of your feet while he unlocked his front door.

As soon as you stepped over the threshold you came to a crashing halt. The entrance hall was lined with dozens of framed photographs. Sam and Steve were featured , as well as the rest of the squad, and people you didn’t recognize but assumed were friends and family. The last thing you’d expected to find in Bucky’s home was a photo of yourself. There it was though, right opposite the front door, smiling at everyone who came through it.

“What, and I can’t stress this enough, the fuck?” You demanded giddily.

“I have the whole squad, it seemed rude to leave you out.” He defended.

“No, no, I’m flattered. Truly.” You sniggered, studying the photo a little more closely.

It was of the two of you, and you remembered the day it had been taken. It had been the first case you and Bucky worked together, a string of muggings that had taken a month to solve. After the two of you had finally caught your perp, you’d celebrated at Thor’s bar, and someone had snapped the photo of you and him clinking glasses. It was a good memory, and not a terrible photo.

“Any more surprises you wanna warn me about? Pillowcases with my face on them? A life size cardboard cut out of me?” You teased, absolutely thrilled by the pink tinge on his cheeks.

“Nope, the dartboard with your face on it is being replaced, so nothing else to see.” He shot back, walking off.

Well, now you were less thrilled.

You rolled your eyes and stomped after him, looking around and taking everything in. The living room was larger than yours, but not by much. It was, however, much nicer. He had better taste in décor than you would have credited him for, but unsurprisingly favoured darker colours. The sofa was a dark chocolate brown, contrasting nicely against the blue walls.

“Yup. Fancy.” You muttered.

“You don’t remember being here before?” He asked.

“I’ve been here?” You did a double-take, looking around again.

“You wandered out of Sam’s party on New Year’s Eve and fell asleep in my bathroom. When I tried to wake you up you punched me in the arm and ran away crying because you’d forgotten it was made of metal.” He sniggered.

“Oh, that explains the bruised knuckles.” You winced.

Now that he’d mentioned it you did have a vague memory of Bucky wrestling you into submission, armed with a bag of frozen peas.

“Come on.” He said, walking down the dimly lit hallway off the living room.

You padded after him, looking around curiously at the closed door lining the hallway. You really wanted to know what his bedroom looked like, to know where all the kissing-free magic happened. 

“This is the spare room.” He said, opening the door at the end of the hall.

It was nicer than you’d expected a guest room of Bucky Barnes to be. The walls were a deep charcoal grey, matching the rug on the wooden floors. The highlight was the dark wooden kingsize bed, covered in a mound of midnight blue pillows and matching bedspread. You let out a low impressed whistle.

“Bucky, this is nice. New plan, let’s never solve the case and I’ll just live here forever!” You decided.

“I think if that happened, I’d probably kill you myself.” He snorted.

“Someone tried to kill me today, you’re supposed to be nice to me.” You tutted, sitting on the end of the bed.

It was bouncier than you expected and you ‘oohed’ happily.

“I saved your ass from sleeping on Sam’s sofa, how’s that for nice?” He rebutted calmly.

“Fair. My ass and I are in your debt, we’re also grateful for.. you know, the rest of it.” You alluded, looking him in they eye so he could see you were being genuine.

Truth be told, you’d forcibly stuffed all emotion regarding the day's events into a little box in the back of your head. And then you’d wrapped that box in chains and shoved it in a closet. All that was left was a lingering sense of gratitude, a gratitude that ran deep. 

“Are you all right?” He asked, watching you carefully.

You’d thought about the box, and it must have showed on your face.

“Hmm? Fine.” You smiled to prove you were A-Ok.

“Well, just in case you’re worried, I have four locks on the front door and an alarm system. One of us will escort you whenever you have to leave the apartment. We probably won’t need the precautions, but they’re there anyway.” He assured you comfortingly, not a trace of the usual sass.

“I’m not worried.” You stated flatly.

“Nor should you be.”

“Good, cause I’m not.” You huffed.

“I know.” He smiled softly.

You chewed your lip and looked helplessly around the room, rolling your shoulders in lieu of fidgeting.

“But if I were…” You whispered, studying the rug.

He pushed off from the doorframe and crossed the room in two strides, kneeling on the ground in front of you so you had no choice but to meet his eyes.

“I’d tell you I’ll be right here and I won’t let anything happen to you. I’d say that it wouldn’t matter if every criminal in the city tried to get to you, they wouldn’t get near you, I wouldn’t let them. Ain’t nothing going to touch you while I’m around, and I’m not going anywhere.” He vowed, and there was a hardness to his eyes that made you almost pity anyone who did try their luck.

Warmth settled over you like a blanket, a fuzzy barrier between you and the coldness of fear.

“Well, I guess if I were worried, that would make me feel better. If you said that then I’d believe you, and it would make me feel safe.” You murmured. “I’d also feel compelled to point out that your whole dark guardian angel act is kinda sexy.” You snorted.

“All right, and we’re done here.” He groaned, standing up.

“No really, I’ve gone all tingly.”

“You’re an idiot.” He sighed. “Get some rest, kitten. You look like you need it.”

“Thanks?”

You supposed you did look terrible, to be fair.

“What, no bedtime story?” You called as walked out of the room.

“It’s not even 8pm, you dumbass. I meant for you to chill out while I ordered food. You don’t even have pyjama’s, Wanda went to your apartment to get your shit.” He shouted from somewhere down the hall.

“Oh. Hey, quick but important question?”

He re-appeared in the doorway, waiting to hear your question.

“Can I braid your hair? You never actually answered me.” You asked hopefully.

He levelled you with a deadpan expression, maintaining it as he grabbed the door handle and shut you in the room.

He still hadn’t answered the question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact - I'm literally to exhausted to think of my authors note for this chapter. I couldn't even come up with a witty chapter name. 
> 
> I poured the last dregs of creativity I had into this chapter, so if it feels a little flat and generally crappy, I'm so sorry.


	8. Pillow Talk

The dim light of your laptop that Wanda had delivered from your apartment was the only light in the room, lighting up your face like a beacon. The last time you’d checked the small clock in the corner of the screen it had been approaching midnight, but that had been some time ago. You were too engrossed in what you were doing to pay attention to your surroundings, which is why you didn’t see the figure peering through the crack in the slightly open door.

“What are you doing?” Bucky demanded.

“JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!”

Your laptop was flung somewhere on the bed and you’d already reached out to grab the gun on the bedside table before you figured out what the hell was happening. Your eyes adjusted to the near darkness and you recognized the large shape hovering in the doorway as belonging to your host.

“James Buchannan Barnes, what the ever loving fuck is wrong with you?!?” You snarled, leaving the gun where it was and arming yourself with a pillow instead.

He easily batted it away from it’s collision course with his face, glaring at the overturned laptop on the end of the bed.

“I could see the screen light through the door. thought you were tired?” He asked suspiciously.

You had said that, two bites into a slice of pizza, before scurrying off to your temporary room. You’d taken some pizza with you though, you weren’t insane.

“I was. I am. I couldn’t sleep, so I decided to so some online shopping.” You shrugged.

He clearly didn’t believe you and for good reason. You met his eye unflinchingly, trying to play it cool. But when he stepped inside the room, his hand outstretched towards the laptop, you broke.

“PORN!” You screeched, diving for the laptop and slamming it closed. “I was watching… porn.”

“Porn?” He repeated thickly, clearing his throat.

“Yup. Porn. Good ‘ol pornography.”

He shifted slightly, transferring his weight from one leg to the other and frowning down at you while he thought about what to say. He took a few moments to decide, but if he’d have taken a year then it still wouldn’t have been enough time for you to prepare yourself for the words that came out of his mouth.

“Prove it.”

“I beg your fucking pardon?” You gasped.

“You heard me. If you’re really watching porn, prove it.” He challenged, crossing his arms over his chest.

“That is… inappropriate!”

“Only if you’re telling the truth, but you aren’t.” He rebutted logically.

You didn’t know how to call his bluff without outing yourself.

“I can’t. I’m very ashamed of my taste in porn, and I don’t want you to judge me.” You winced.

“After the first time we met you turned around and told Nat you wanted me to wear you like a bullet-proof vest, not realising I was still in ear-shot. I’ve been judging you since then.”

Oh.

_Oh._

Oh _no_.

You had said that. You had very much said that. You didn’t know he knew that you had said that.

“Nyyuuhaaaaaa.” You whined intelligently.

How did you not know he knew? All this time, he had been sitting on this vital and devastating information, hoarding it, waiting for the opportune moment to use it against you.

“Show me the laptop, kitten.” He urged, cockily.

You held it up, hiding your face behind it.

“Open it up for me.” He commanded, his voice an octave lower than what it usually was.

You peered over the top of the laptop suspiciously. His tone did not match the situation at all, and neither did his expression. He was staring you down, a cocky smirk tugging at his lips. This, this felt like a boundary being… not quite broken, but pushed against. There was a thin line between friendly banter and carnal teasing and he was pressing right up against that line. Him shrouded in shadow with wicked look in his eyes, and you knelt on the bed in flimsy night clothes, it was a new situation, an unfamiliar scenario.

“Don’t try and flirt me into submission.” You snapped pathetically.

“And why not, kitten? Hmm? Is it working?” He whispered sensually.

_Yes._

“No! Because now I know you, and your personality really undercuts the sexiness of your…. _all that_.” You insisted, gesturing at his whole body.

“So you _do_ think I’m sexy?”

“I… no. What? No. What? No!” You grimaced.

You didn’t. Ish. Mostly. Well… kinda. He was beautiful, anyone would be hard-pressed to deny that simple and obvious fact. Objectively, he was a walking wet-dream and you could admit that to yourself (and Nat). But he was also just Bucky, and he was so much a part of daily life that he was just _there_. You didn’t have desires or feelings for him, any more than you did for Sam, or Steve, or Pietro, all of whom were just as beautiful as Bucky, in their own ways. And maybe Bucky was a little more your type, and maybe his beauty was a little poignant to you, but that meant nothing.

This was a game, a taunt, a power play. This was him using his tactics to break you, to get you to back down. Any other day, and other opponent, and you wouldn’t have let them win. This time though, the stakes felt a little too high, even if you weren’t sure why.

“I was googling some of the perps I put away to see where they are now!” You blurted, tossing the laptop back on the bed and holding your hands up in surrender.

He blinked once, his gaze clearing up and it was like a switch had been flipped. The air lost all the confusing tension that had been weighing it down, and you could breath again. Strangely, you hadn’t even noticed you’d been holding your breath.

“I knew you were trying to work the case.” He sighed, snatching the laptop up and tucking it under his arm.

“Bucket, noooooo!” You cried dramatically, leaping after it, too slow.

“You can have it back when you show me you can be trusted with it.” He decreed, snorting at your predicament.

“But… Just let me do one more, please? Just let me see if Ronan ever got out on parole? I called him a bargain-basement WWE reject, if anyone’s gonna want me killed, it’ll be him.”

“Thanks for the tip. I’ll look into it.” He said, closing the door without so much as looking back at you.

You flung yourself into the mattress, letting out a strangled scream of frustration into the pillows. Weaponized flirting. Who knew he had it in him, or that it would be so effective?

Alright, you, you knew. You’d seen him use it before, but his charm was reserved for a witness or suspect, to cajole them into giving up pertinent information. Which was exactly how he’d played you tonight, but it felt different. You weren’t some random traumatised witness, you were a detective of the NYPD. You were a certified badass, with a badge, and a gun, and training.

On the one hand, you got why you were being kept off the case, but on the other hand… How the hell were you supposed to let it go? How were you supposed to sleep at night when there might be someone out there in the shadows, just waiting to strike? If you could even just find out for sure that someone really was gunning for you, you’d feel less on edge. It was the uncertainty that was making it unbearable.

That wasn’t quite true though, and even as you thought it, you knew you were lying to yourself. The uncertainty sucked, but it was the helplessness that sucked more. There was nothing you could do, just like the moment the gun had been aimed at you. There was nothing you could do except wait.

You didn’t want to sit around and wait to die. You wanted to fight, to _hunt_. 

So you needed to pass your psyche eval, the one Wanda had informed you had been scheduled for the following morning. Then Steve would have no choice but to let you back on the case, and you could do what you did best. Catch bad guys.

This time you weren’t engrossed in something else, so you had some warning when Bucky came wandering back up the hall. You watched the door as it opened and he came slinking back in, not even knocking.

“Ronan is still locked up, he’s under strict watch so all his letters and phonecalls are monitored. Wasn’t him.” He grunted, kneeling on the edge of the bed and towering over you.

“What are you doing?” You squeaked, getting an eyeful of his clothed chest as he leant over you.

“You’re too slow on the draw with the gun on the cabinet.” He explained, and only then did you notice the holster in his hand.

He fastened it onto the headboard, making sure it was secure before he grabbed your gun and holstered it.

“Grab it.” He ordered gruffly.

“Hmm? Oh.” You muttered.

You had been listening to him, you hadn’t been subtly let your eyes wander down his body at all.

When he was satisfied you could draw the gun quickly enough he nodded, pleased.

“Not that you’ll need it, but it makes me feel better you’re not going to grab it and send it clattering to the floor.” He explained, sitting back on his heels.

Bucky was in bed with you. Well, on the bed, but semantics.

This time yesterday you would have said that this situation, while strange, would be easy to handle. Now, you were extremely confused. In a really short space of time he’d thrown you for a loop.

The light from the hallway was the only light in the room, and the dim glow backlit him, so he was just a dark mass next to you. If you focused, you could make out his features, the corner of his mouth, the glint of his eyes, a flash of metal at his side, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.

It was strange and unusual, and it was intimate, but it wasn’t entirely an unwelcome situation that you found yourself in.

“Anything else I can do for you?” You sassed, stuffing all these new and baffling feelings out of the way.

“Nope.” He shrugged, popping the P. “Anything I can do for you, Kitten?”

It was a loaded question, and boy; did your mind conjure up a plethora of answers, each more lewd than the last.

“Nothing that comes to mind.” You lied.

The Bodyguard complex, that’s what this was. It had to be. It made sense really, he’d saved your life and now he was protecting you. It wasn’t actually Bucky you were attracted to, just the vibes he was giving off.

Yeah, that made sense.

“Alright, I’m right down the hall. If you need me, for any reason, you just yell. I mean it.” He instructed, clambering off the bed with ease.

If you’d have tried that, you’d have looked like a toddler trying to escape a bouncy caste, but he just looked elegant somehow.

Bastard.

“What if I get thirsty?” You asked cheekily.

“Then I’ll come and sate your thirst, Kitten.” He relied with a straight face, and for the third and final time that evening, shut the door on you.

Yeah. Bastard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even fucking know at this point. Everytime I begrudgingly upload a trash chapter, I get eviscerated by you for daring to insult myself. 🤣🤣🤣
> 
> So here, this is the best chapter ever! It’s amazing!


	9. Mirror Mirror, On The Wall

Of course Bucky was the type of person who took hours in the bathroom, of _course_. You’d jolted awake when his alarm had gone off, stifling a laugh into your pillow when it was followed by a loud thump as he fell out of bed, cursing. As soon as the alarm shut off, silence, and then a very gentle questioning call of your name.

“Did that wake you?” He’d whispered into the hallway.

You’d decided to play dead, and assuage his guilt. That had been an hour ago. The shower had shut off twenty minutes ago, but he still hadn’t emerged from the bathroom and your bladder was kicking up a storm in protest. Still, you took the time to run your fingers through your hair and rub the sleep from your eyes before you banged on the bathroom door.

“Bucket! Hurry up!” You whined.

“Go back to bed.” He huffed through the door.

“Can’t, I’m awake. And I have to go see Dr Coulson at 10 so he can clear me for active duty again.” You whimpered, trying to cross your legs.

“Then you’ve got time. Go make coffee or something.” He grumped.

“Buckyyyyyy! Come on, I need in. Quit styling your hair or whatever you’re doing. I’m sure you look very pretty, you’re absolutely…” He opened the door. “Naked.”

Good god alive, he was naked. Well, he had a towel wrapped around his waist, but it provided no relief to your shell-shocked brain. All you could focus on was the glistening skin of his chest, and the small droplet of water that trailed it’s way down his abs. You found yourself wishing you were that lucky little drop of liquid.

“You are absolutely naked.” You repeated, pressing your legs together again, for a very different reason.

“I forgot to bring my clothes in with me.”

Your heartbeat had jumped so high, you were sure he could hear it. Every single fucking centimetre of him was absolutely perfect. He couldn’t have been more gorgeous if Michelangelo himself had popped over from the afterlife with a chisel and crafted the perfect specimen. Which, from looking at Bucky in all his almost naked, wet, shining glory… you weren’t entirely sure that Michelangelo, God and Satan hadn’t come to some sort of arrangement.

It was the first time you’d seen the extent of his scars, and it was a testament to how ripped he was that it took you a good ten seconds of ogling to notice them. As soon as your gaze trailed over the pink scars across his pec and shoulder, the muscles underneath tensed up and he shifted his shoulder back, trying to turn it away from your view.

And that broke your heart in a way you didn’t know it could be broken. The scars didn’t detract from his beauty in any way, they only added to it. A touch of humanity in the divine, and as much a part of him as his flesh arm. They were a symbol of the hell he had been through, and the hell he had survived.

But you didn’t know if that was something he’d appreciate hearing, especially when he was so vulnerably bare.

“You know, if you dressed like this around the station, I’d probably be nicer to you.” You mused playfully, injected some much needed levity into the situation.

He smiled gratefully at the jab.

“That might make getting written up worth it.” He scoffed.

Oh god, his _thighs_. Just the sight of those thick, muscular thighs sent jolts of desire through you.

“Kitten?”

“Yes dear?”

“You’re in my way.”

“So I am.” You murmured, utterly bespelled.

It took your brain an embarrassingly long time to catch up to what he’d actually meant.

“Shit, so I am!” You exclaimed, moving out of the way so he could get past.

For a moment he didn’t move and when you finally garnered the courage to look at his face, he was watching curiously. His eyebrow cocked, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“You seem flustered Kitten.” He noted.

Welp, there was no way in heaven or hell he didn’t know you’d been ogling him. Whatever attraction had started to flare up within you, it was out there. You’d do damage control, if you knew how.

“Usually when I’m confronted with a near-naked man first thing in the morning, I’m expecting it.” You defended, somewhat weakly.

“And here I thought you were holding out for a soulmate. How scandalous.” He teased with a huge grin.

“Go get dressed before you catch your death, Bucket.” You scoffed, pushing past him into the bathroom and relishing in being able to shut a door on him for once.

That satisfaction lasted less than a second. You clutched the sink, trying to compose yourself.

“Bodyguard complex, bodyguard complex, bodyguard complex.” You chanted quietly to yourself.

Or temporary insanity, because you were not lusting after Bucky, no way, no how, no siree. Not Bucky Barnes, the perpetually annoying, gear grinding, skin getter-under, colleague.

You looked up into the mirror, and stared yourself down warningly.

“Get. It. Together.” You hissed through your teeth.

There was a long list of reasons why this was a terrible, awful, horrific idea.

  1. Bucky and you worked together, often closely. Your combined ability to solve crime hinged on you both having clear heads and being able to work together, which could get complicated if you crossed any lines.



Though, Wanda and Vision managed it without any problems. You even had a cousin in the nine-nine who was married to someone in his precinct, and they worked well together. In both examples though, the pair were soulmates. Which led you to your second objection.

  1. Bucky didn’t believe in soulmates, or at least had no desire in locating his own. Not that you thought there was even a possibility he was yours. Soulmates were pre-destined, and you’d known him for a long time, there had been no hints of chemistry until now. So there was absolutely no chance of a future.



Not that being soulmates was the only reason to, ahem, bone down. You’d had flings before, you were a romantic, not a nun. But the idea of carnal, raw, mind-blowing, casual sex with Bucky was a terrible idea, because of point one, and point three.

  1. You had no indication that Bucky even saw you as anything more than a co-worker he was fond of in a semi-friendly way. Even if objections one and two were void, and you flung open the bathroom door right now to climb him like a tree, you’d probably only be embarrassing yourself.



He’d flirted with you a grand total of once, and it wasn’t even really flirting. It was a sort of maybe kind of flirting that had been done with the intention of getting you to behave, not misbehave.

In conclusion, Bucky + You = Disaster. You didn’t even need to look too deeply at objection number four.

  1. Bucky made you feel safe, he made you laugh, he challenged you, he trusted you, he worked in tandem with you. Your feelings could absolutely not be trusted around him.



You pushed off from the sink and threw your shoulders back, giving yourself a satisfied nod in the mirror. Another successful pep talk given, and a possible crisis averted.

Brain taken care of, it was about time to take care of your bladder. Christ, you really needed to pee. And shower.

By the time you padded into the living room, mind and body scrubbed clean, you were ready to take on the world. Or the psychologist, whatever.

What you weren’t prepared for was what was waiting for you on Bucky’s couch with a grim expression, a large brown file on his lap.

“Captain.” You greeted nervously.

You knew Steve, and you knew that the deep frown on his face spelled trouble.

“Fury, have a seat.” He sighed.

You looked around, automatically seeking out Bucky. He was at the kitchen doorway, and he didn’t look any happier than Steve did.

“Is this about me googling perps? I was only looking them up online, I wasn’t going to do anything with the information, I swear!”

“Fury.”

“Ok you caught me, I was. But I _didn’t,_ and that’s what counts, right? Right?”

“It’s not about that.” Steve said.

“Oh. In that case forget I said anything.” You winced.

“Kitten, you really should sit down.” Bucky warned, reaching for something on the kitchen counter and coming over to you with a mug of coffee.

He pressed it into your hand, gently nudging you over to the armchair.

“What’s the situation, Captain?” You sighed heavily.

Something had them worked up, and it was better to rip the band-aid off and find out what. Bucky balanced on the arm of the chair, staying close.

“We kept a uniformed officer outside your apartment overnight, just in case. Officer Cordero was stationed in a squad car on the street, and he missed his check-in at 6am. We sent another squad car to the scene and they called it in.” Steve told you, his jaw clenched tightly while he spoke.

“Called what in?” You demanded.

Deep down you already knew. You _knew_. Before Steve said the words, you knew. Because what else would have him this worked up, what else could be so bad.

“Somebody broke into your apartment, we presume in the early hours of this morning.” He took a deep breath. “Officer Cordero was found dead on the scene.”

“Oh god.” You choked out.

“Tell her the rest.” Bucky ordered stiffly.

“There’s more?” You gasped.

“Something was left in your apartment.” Steve said, flicking open the file and holding up a crime scene photo. “Does this mean anything to you?”

For a split second, a blissful second, it didn’t. All you saw was a bouquet of flowers, and your mind refused to make the connection, protecting you from the terror it was inevitably about to be subjected to.

But then everything crashed down around you, the whole world just crashed down, collapsing under the weight of a dead police officer and a familiar bouquet of roses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, that's right, there's still an actual plot! 😂
> 
> Also, it's been like 7 hours since I posted a chapter. That's some sort of record, even for me! But, and I'm not even ashamed of this, I'm such a slut for all the comments, I need to keep putting out for y'all 😂😂😂😂😂😂


	10. Armed & Dangerous

He had seen a lot of different emotions on you, and though he sometimes hated to admit it, you wore them all well. Until yesterday. Terror wasn’t a shade he enjoyed you in, and it was something he never wanted to see on you again.

But Bucky Barnes rarely got what he wanted.

“It’s him. It’s Rumlow. He’s not dead. He’s not fucking dead!” You gasped, reeling backwards, as if you could escape the photograph.

He didn’t know why you were so sure, the significance of the flowers escaped him, but the why and the how didn’t really fucking matter in that moment. He could see it building behind your eyes, that dark abyss of horrified fear, and he did the only thing he could think of to stop you drowning in it. He flung his metal arm out like a lifeline, wrapping it around your shoulders and using it to drag you out of the chair, pulling you onto his lap.

He half-expected you to fight him, or follow his lead, he didn’t expect you to bury your face in his neck.

“He’s not dead.” You whispered, your breath escaping in little puffs and tickling his skin.

“He will be.” He growled, a dark vow, one that probably didn’t match up with the badge he held.

But it felt like justice to him. For putting you through this, Rumlow deserved to die, and nothing less would satisfy. He would _protect_ you, and he would _serve_ you Rumlow’s head on a fucking platter.

It never occurred to him to question you, or your firm belief that Rumlow was somehow alive. It occurred to Steve though, Steve, whom he had completely forgotten was still in the room.

“Fury, I need to know why you think Rumlow is still alive.” Steve commanded, firm and apologetic at the same time.

“The flowers. He’s given them to me before, that exact bouquet.” You gagged, twisting around in his arms to look at Steve.

“That’s not a lot to go on.” Steve winced.

He heard the implication in that statement, and so did you. Steve wasn’t entirely convinced.

“The only other person who knew about those flowers was Vis, so unless you think he’s behind it, it can only be Rumlow.” You snapped.

“I saw Rumlow die.”

“No, you saw him blow up, and you saw a charred corpse afterwards. He could have survived, and any corpse could have been served up to us in his place. There’s a lot more evidence for him being alive than there is for him being dead.” You argued.

“The only evidence I have is your instinct.” Steve pointed out.

He opened his mouth to interject, and the words were on the tip of his tongue before he saw the guilt in Steve’s eyes. Apparently Steve didn’t like seeing you terrified either, and since Bucky wasn’t pushing your buttons for a change, Steve stepped in.

You pushed off of his lap and straightened your spine, facing down your Captain with a burning determination.

“He is the only suspect we have. He is our only lead. We have a dead officer and unless you want me to be next, you had better start taking my instincts a little more seriously. If this were any other case, my gut would be enough, so don’t push me aside like I’m some damsel in fucking distress who’s jumping at shadows. I'm a damsel, I'm in distress, I can handle this.”

The loss of physical contact had left him briefly cold, but the righteous indignation and confidence radiating from you quickly remedied that. Your attitude in that moment was just downright sexy, there was no other word for it.

“Then you had better get yourself to your psychological evaluation, and get cleared.” Steve commanded.

You spun around and levelled Bucky with a disbelieving expression.

“Did I just get played?”

“Oh yeah. More importantly, did you just quote Hercules?” He sniggered. 

“How the fuck did you know that?” You demanded.

“Wait, how many of your more impressive speeches are plagiarised from Disney movies?” He pressed.

“I would never take any content owned by the Disney corporation and mould it for my own personal use. Also, I hate you both and I’m going to go to my appointment with the good doctor, because I have a case to solve and a criminal to catch.”

You might say you hated them, but there was no bite to it. In fact, you were smiling softly, all traces of panic chased from your eyes.

“I’ll escort you to the appointment, and then we can go directly to the crime scene. Bucky, you go on ahead.” Steve suggested.

Good, you’d be safe with Steve, and he would have a chance to look around the scene and get prepared for how best to support you when you saw it.

You nodded gratefully at Steve and spun on your heel, sashaying out of the room like a woman with a purpose. Which you were.

“Don’t worry, I’ll look after her.” Steve muttered on his way past.

He looked up at his friend, and there was absolutely no trace of the Captain there, just the knowing glance of someone who knew him too well.

“Punk.” Bucky muttered back.

As soon as he was alone in the room, he exhaled heavily.

“Hang on, I forgot something!” You exclaimed from the front door, skidding back inside.

“What?” He frowned.

You grabbed the mug of coffee he’d handed you before the whole fiasco, and brought it to your lips, chugging it down.

“Can’t waste good coffee, rule number one of being a detective.” You shrugged bashfully, holding the empty mug out to him.

“Pretty sure that’s not the first rule.” He scoffed, taking it from you.

But you didn’t let go of it. You held on until he looked at your face, waiting for an explanation.

“Thank you.” You whispered, and despite the soft tone, there was a weight to the words.

“For?” He asked, swallowing thickly.

Your lips curled up in response, and you reached out to tap his wrist, your fingers clinking against the metal.

“I know Steve cajoled me out of my panic, but it was you who stopped me falling apart, _James_. Thank you.” You murmured gently, smiling at him so sweetly.

And then you were gone, leaving him alone in the apartment that suddenly felt too empty.

“Fuck.” He groaned, elbows digging into his thighs as he held his head in his hands.

He was going to kill Wanda. Having you here was her idea, and though he hadn’t realised it at the time, it was a monumentally terrible one.

Sure, it had seemed like a great idea in the moment. If you were here he could keep you safe. He wouldn’t ever have to live through another moment like the one that had scared the hell out of him yesterday, hearing the terror in your voice when you screamed for him. Knowing it meant something was really wrong, and not knowing if he was running fast enough, not knowing if he was going to make it.

But he had made it. He had saved you, but only by a split-second, and that was too close a call. He needed to keep you close, to make sure nothing like that ever happened again.

But having you so close was making other issues… _arise._

After he’d left you looking so flustered last night, he’d been _up_ all night himself, thinking about how you were in his bed, but not _his_ bed. It had been a long damn night.

He’d love to say it had blindsided him, this sudden onset of attraction to you, but it had been building for a long time and he knew it. In all honesty it had probably always been there, simmering in the background of every interaction the two of you had. It had been there from the first hello, your first day on the force, but then you had called him Detective Bucket and the stage had been set for a antagonistic friendship, and he had played his part to perfection. That slight attraction that was the backdrop to every encounter hadn’t seemed important, until now.

How was he supposed to focus on keeping you safe when all he could think about was how soft you were when you were pressed into the mattress underneath him, or how the smell of your shampoo and your moisturiser combined into a mouth-watering scent, or how adorably flustered you got when he lowered his voice. How was he going to keep his focus?

_“Bucky!”_

By remembering the heart crushing fear he’d felt when you screamed his name. By remembering how you had held onto his arm and trusted him to keep you safe. That’s how he would keep himself in check, by remembering that his feelings, any and all of his feelings, meant nothing in the face of what you were going through.

Come hell, or come highwater, he was going to keep you safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “i wOuLd nEvEr tAkE AnY CoNtEnT OwNeD By tHe dIsNeY CoRpOrAtIoN AnD MoUlD It fOr mY OwN PeRsOnAl uSe.”
> 
> Also, Kittens claws are comin’ out, and Bucky’s ‘feelings’ are popping up…. Meow!


	11. The Doctor Will See You Now

As far as therapy went, this appointment was once of the worst. It wasn’t the stiff, scratchy couch you were sat on that was making you uncomfortable. Nor was it the mild mannered Doctor Coulson who was perched across from you, his notepad in his lap and the little stamp that would clear you in his hand.

No, what was making you nervous was the man in the corner of the room, using the shadows to hide himself from view until you had already sat on the ugly, coarse sofa. As soon as you’d spotted him, every cell in your body told you to run away, but you couldn’t do that, and he knew it.

“I gotta say, the fact you managed to ambush me is a little worrying. My security detail is shit.” You shot-off scathingly, anything to break the tense silence while they waited to see how you were going to react.

“Sorry for the cloak and dagger act, I thought it was best to just do as I was asked.” Doctor Coulson apologised.

“Yeah, you were right. He doesn’t like it when he doesn’t get his own way.” You said, rolling your eyes.

“ _He_ can hear you.”

“Sorry, _dad_.” You scoffed.

Your father pushed off from the wall and stepped into the light, with all the signature dramatic energy that only Nicholas Fury could pull off.

“How long did you think you could keep it from me?” He asked, staring down at you with thinly veiled annoyance.

That was an expression that took you back. You felt like a teenager trying to sneak back into the house at 6am. Not that he was ever annoyed with you for sneaking out, no, he was annoyed you hadn’t snuck out sneakily enough. 

“I wasn’t trying to keep it from you, I just didn’t see the point in informing you directly.” You shrugged, smiling innocently up at him.

“When someone tries to kill my kid, I don’t want to find out about it through Agent Hill. I want my kid to come and tell me ‘Hey dad, someone tried to shoot me in broad daylight, can I get some back-up?’” He seethed.

You turned to the doctor with an exaggerated eyeroll.

“See, what we have here is a textbook case of control issues, with a little dash of a power-complex thrown in.” You said pompously.

“And what you have is a case of ‘I would rather get myself killed than show a shred of weakness’. How, is that any better?” You dad rebutted.

“My thing only affects me?” You tried.

“Like hell it does. I am your father, that makes you my responsibility, that means if you get killed, it affects me.” He snapped, well… _furiously._

“I didn’t get killed though. I’ve had worse on the job, I’ve had worse in the gym. He didn’t even graze a hair on my pretty little head.” You argued.

“But he wasn’t the one after you, was he? Rumlow is still out there, which means you’re still in danger.” He pointed out.

“How did you…”

“I knew the second you did, we’re keeping tabs on the ongoing investigation.” He sarked, like it was obvious.

Which it really should have been.

“Alright, fine, you’re right. I’m possibly, potentially, in a teeny tiny bit of danger. Quite frankly, everybody else is making a far bigger deal out of this than I am.” You sighed. “Note that down, patient is coping well with the stress.” You prompted the Doctor.

Technically you were telling the truth. You were coping better than could have been expected, because of Bucky and Steve. Mostly Bucky. The point still stood though, you were fine, and you could handle the situation.

Doctor Coulson smirked at you and set the pad down on the table, stamp next to it.

“You’re not really a Doctor, are you?” You groaned.

“No. It’s nice to see you again, last time we met you were a baby.” Coulson grinned.

“She still is a baby, or she acts like one.” Your dad interrupted.

“You’re a baby.” You muttered under your breath.

“What was that?” He demanded.

“Nothing. I said you’re… shady?” You winced.

He crossed his arms and waited patiently for you to break and start talking, and you crossed your arms and resolved to hold out for as long as possible.

A clock ticked somewhere in the room, marking down the seconds until a Fury gave in.

And it kept ticking.

Tick Tock.

Tick…

Tock…

“We have people looking into Rumlow’s known contacts.” Coulson sighed heavily, breaking the stare-off.

You and your dad turned around to glare at him in tandem.

“We only have this room for the hour, the real doctor has real patients.” Coulson defended, only slightly perturbed.

He was probably used to your father, and you probably didn’t pack quite the same punch. Maybe you needed an eyepatch?

“Wait, does that mean I have to see a real psychologist, or can you stamp me?” You asked, sitting forward excitedly.

“Now what the hell makes you think I’m going to let you work this case?” You dad scathingly snapped.

“I let you work when someone tried to kill you!” You gasped, offended.

“You’re not the parent here, nor are you the director of the CIA. You’re don’t have my experience, you don’t even have the sense to ask for help when you need it, so why would I allow you to do this?”

“Cause I wanna!” You whined petulantly.

“This isn’t a pony, you can’t just bat your damn eyelashes at me and get your own way.” He declared.

“But I could get a pony? Cause if that’s on offer… wait, no, shelving that for later, as in we are definitely coming back to that…” You said giddily. “I _did_ ask for help, from my colleagues. Because that’s how it works in the NYPD. You don’t roll into town to look after any other officer, and you shouldn’t do it for me either. I get that you’re worried, and I understand, I do, but… I’m a Detective. This is literally my job, and the fact that I am also the victim in this case is irrelevant.”

He looked you over appraisingly and with a hint of, dare you say, pride. You were getting through to him, so you kept pulling the effective thread.

“I wasn’t in my apartment when the incident occurred, because my Captain sent me to stay with a fellow officer. There’s four cops in that building, not including me. I have a permanent escort and I haven’t tried to slip it once. I’m doing everything I need to do, so I can stay safe, and so I can catch the son of a bitch.”

“And what about when you do catch him?” Coulson asked.

“I’m going to take him in, and if that’s not an option, I’m going to take him down. Either way, Rumlow’s on borrowed time.” You shrugged.

Your dad kept watching you, and you could see the gears turning in his head, though you couldn’t tell quite what direction they were going in. You held your breath while you waited, hoping he would see sense.

Everything you’d said was true. You could handle this, you just needed everybody to stop being over-protective and let you. Not that you minded being protected a little bit. Bucky was plenty protective, but in the right way. Like tying a holster to the bedframe so you could draw your gun quickly and safely.

Or wrapping his arm around you when you just needed a minute to let yourself fall apart.

“So, you don’t need our help then?” Your dad finally asked, his tone careful.

“I didn’t say that. The CIA has resources that we don’t, and we’d be fools not to make use of that. As an officer of the NYPD, I would be grateful to have the Director of the CIA’s assistance. As a daughter, I don’t need my daddy to lock me away while he saves the day.” You responded, equally as carefully.

It would seem that you had said the right thing, because he leant over to stamp the form decisively, and handed it over to you.

“I have conditions.” He warned, before you could snatch it out of his hands.

“Is one of those conditions that I get a pony?” You asked hopefully.

“You live in New York, where would you even keep a pony?” He scoffed.

“Police Horse.” You said with a straight face, realising after you said it that you’d had an echo.

Coulson shrugged ruefully, eyeing you with amusement.

“This guy gets it.” You grinned, pointing enthusiastically at your fake doctor.

“You are not getting a god damn pony. I want you to promise me you won’t do anything stupid, like go after Rumlow half-cocked and alone.” You dad demanded.

There was a half-cocked/full-cocked joke on the tip of your tongue, but you thought better of it in a rare show of maturity.

“I won’t do anything stupid.” You promised, immediately correcting yourself. “I won’t do anything stupid on the case.”

Nope, that didn’t work either.

“I won’t do anything stupid that could get me killed.” Ah, damn. One more time. “I won’t go after Rumlow on my own, I will follow all necessary protocols.”

Your dad raised his eyebrow, letting out a long-suffering sigh of someone who’d had to put up with you for far too long, but he handed the stamped form over.

“Keep me informed.” He ordered. “And I’ll be close by, just in case. We’ll have dinner once you catch that mother….” He paused, lingering on the ‘R’ for far too long. “…Fudger.”

“Oh my god.” You cackled.

Coulson managed to turn his amused snort into a convincing cough at the last second, pretending he didn’t see the glare your father aimed at him.

“Motherfudger. Really? I’m an _adult_ , I know bad words!” You wheezed.

“What bad words would those be?” He asked calmly.

That calmed you down, fast.

“What? None. Um. Uh, I have to go to work. Bad guys to catch and all that.” You stammered, backing up towards the door.

“You do that. And remember, I’ll be…”

“Making a list and checking it twice?” You interrupted, much to his unamusement.

“Cause you know who’s naughty and who’s nice? Get it? No? Alright, I’ll see myself out.” You sighed, unlatching the door.

But before you closed it, safely on the other side, you had one last parting shot.

“Later Motherfudgers!”

You slammed it closed before you could see the ire on your dads face, and skipped into the waiting room where Steve was waiting, waving the form excitedly at him.

“I’m officially licensed to kill! Let’s go!” You hollered, rushing past him.

“Wait!”

“No, time! Let’s go, you’ve got to follow me, I need escorted.” You shouted over your shoulder, rushing out of the building before he could smell the rat.

Or the CIA agents who had just fast tracked you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sheer outpouring of love I have been getting for this fic is absolutely monumental. 
> 
> In all honesty, I was really struggling with writing. I just couldn't get into the groove, and it was starting to really depress me. But the love and support I have gotten for this has made me so joyful, and that's made me inspired. I actually have the momentum to post every day again, and that is 100% because of you guys. Thank you so much, truly and from the bottom of my heart! 💖💖💖💖💖💖


	12. Alley Cat

Whenever you walked onto a crime scene Sharp Dressed Man by ZZ Top was playing in your mind, you were walking in slow motion, and you felt like a badass. It was the whole reason you became a cop.

Well, not the _whole_ reason.

But for this crime scene, all you could hear was white static noise, and the short walk from Steve’s car to your building seemed to go by too quickly. You most definitely didn’t feel like a badass either, you felt a terrified child who was hiding behind her parent. The parent in this scenario being Steve, who’s gigantic Dorito body you were using as a shield.

“You don’t have to do this.”

You didn’t immediately notice he’d spoken, his voice took a few moments to break through all that static in your brain.

“I want to. It’s gonna be fine, stop worrying.” You scoffed, the picture of laid-back and unbothered.

But it wasn’t fine, not by a long shot. Officer Cordero’s body had already been taken away, but there was too much evidence left behind to pretend that someone hadn’t been murdered in your apartment. The signs were there as soon as you walked up the corridor to your front door, and a hush fell over the congregation of uniformed and ununiformed officers. Far more people there than necessary, but Cordero had been one of them, and they had shown up in full force to help where they could.

All those eyes on you felt accusing, like they blamed you for it. God knows you blamed yourself.

You paused in front of the open front door, swallowing thickly at the floor, and the congealed bloodstains pooled on the concrete. Guess it was a good thing you had never gotten around to getting those carpets fitted like you always said you would.

“How…” You had to stop to take a deep breath before you could finish your question, but Steve knew what you were going to ask.

“Gunshot wound to the temple.” He said briskly, keeping the emotion out of his voice.

So the perpetrator had been standing in the apartment, somewhere in the living room, when Officer Cordero had come to the door. Maybe Cordero had seen movement and decided to check it out before calling it in, or maybe he was just being thorough and checking the perimeter. You’d never know though.

“The flowers are on your coffee table. Sorry, the crate you’re using as a coffee table.” Steve said lightly, and there wasn’t even any bite in his tone for your lack of proper furniture.

“There’s no sign of forced entry on the door, so the perp probably found another point of entry. I’m going to go out and check the window.” You decided.

You could have just asked Steve if the window was damaged, or checked it from the inside. You just couldn’t bring yourself to step over the threshold though, not when you couldn’t stop picturing what had happened there.

You hadn’t know Cordero well, but you had known him. He was a bright guy, smart and helpful. He never minded doing grunt work, he was happy to pay his dues. He’d sometimes have coffee waiting for you when you turned up to a scene, handing it over while he rattled off all the relevant information from the little notepad he enjoyed flipping open a little too much. He wanted to make Detective one day, and you’d happily put in a good word for him. He was well on his way to achieving his dreams.

You couldn’t get his walk out of your head as you made your way outside. It was such a stupid thing to remember, but you were fixated on it, unconsciously changing your stride to match his little bouncing steps. You frowned when you realised what you were doing and forced yourself to walk normally, turning the corner to slide down the alleyway between your apartment and the Chinese restaurant next door.

“嬲! 當我哋睇到所有的法員時, 我哋好擔心你。 有具屍體!”

The sudden shout made you flinch, your gun halfway out of your holster before you realised it was just one of the cooks, leaning out of the window to talk to you.

“發生了一件事, 但我唔喺呢度。 唔使擔心, 一切都很好。”You sighed in jilted, barely comprehensible Cantonese, masking your reach for your gun as a weird stretch.

The cook ducked back in the window, yelling about your return and apparent survival.

“Didn’t know you spoke Chinese.”

You whirled around, gun actually drawn this time.

“Jesus. People need to stop sneaking up on me!” You hissed.

Bucky smiled apologetically, holding his hands up as if to prove he wasn’t armed as he walked down the alleyway toward you.

“And it’s Cantonese, I picked up a little from living here.” You explained, holstering your gun.

“I’m impressed.”

“Oh good, I was hoping somebody would be.” You muttered sarcastically.

You used the wall to prop yourself up, leaning heavily on it.

“Did you follow me out here for a reason?” You sighed exhaustedly.

You didn’t mean for it to come out the way it did, you just didn’t have the emotional energy to be anything other than blunt. You wanted to know if he knew anything, if he’d discovered anything while you were in your clandestine meeting with the CIA.

“Steve asked me to come after you. You can’t go anywhere without an escort, remember?” He reminded gently.

“Not even around the fucking corner, when the place is literally crawling with cops?”

“Yeah well, nobody wants to take any chances. We all hated Rumlow before this, but he came after you and he killed an officer in cold blood. We’ve got cops from precincts all over Brooklyn offering to help any way they can, because this is personal for everybody now. Don’t expect to get any alone time for the foreseeable future, Kitten.”

He probably meant for it to make you feel better, or at least to make you feel a bit safer. All it made you feel was physically ill.

“I should have been here.” You hissed, trying to keep the bile from rising in your throat.

“Why? So you could have died as well? Your being here wouldn’t have saved Cordero, there would still have been officers posted outside. We’d just be looking at a higher body count today, and I don’t ever want to walk onto a crime scene and see your blood on the fucking floor.” He snarled.

“He’s after _me_. Everyone else is collateral damage, which means Cordero died for _no reason_! None!” You snapped back.

“You think Rumlow would have brought flowers if he thought you were here? He left them to spook you, which means he knew your apartment was empty. He knew….” He paused, a look of realisation crossing his face.

“What?” You demanded sharply.

“He knew where you were going to be yesterday, he had you ambushed on the street.” He said.

It took you a split second, but you caught up to his line of thinking.

“Double murder mystery. It’s the exact kind of case I would want in on, and he would have known that, because he worked with me long enough.” You gasped.

“Which also means he would know the procedure, and that we would canvass.” He added.

“Rumlow’s the killer in Nat’s case.” You finished.

“Bruce is working on digitally reconstructing the victims faces, and I’m betting if we sent them to Interpol…”

“We’ll get a Hydra ping. So Rumlow orchestrated a violent murder in our precinct to lure me into the open. Why not just come to my apartment in the first place, kill me in my sleep?” You asked.

It didn’t make any sense.

“Unless, _killing_ you wasn’t the goal. Making you suffer was. He’s taunting you.” Bucky said, his eyes darkening under the implications of his words.

Somehow, that scared you more. Three people had already died, in 24 hours, and for what? Because he wanted to play some sick game with you?

“Why you?” Bucky muttered under his breath, inhaling deeply.

_Why indeed?_

“Hey, I am totally worthy of being obsessed over.” You huffed petulantly.

His eyes snapped up, disbelief marking his gaze.

“Oh my god.” He breathed out. “I didn’t say you weren’t, you _idiot_. How are you offended by my not wanting you to be targeted by a psychopath?”

“I dunno Bucket, sounded to me like you thought Rumlow could have picked a better target for his obsession. What, am I not good enough?”

A myriad of emotions flickered behind his eyes, each chased out by the next. Anger, confusion, guilt, panic, and finally, annoyance and relief when he realised you were deliberately winding him up. Relief that you were feeling up to being your usual obtuse self, annoyance that he was bearing the brunt of it as usual.

“If you want someone to be obsessed with you, Kitten, then your wish is my command. Until this is over, you’re _my_ new obsession. Everything you do, everywhere you go, every single little action you take? I’m going to be there. From this moment on, you’re the sum of my existence.”

Hot damn. That had taken a turn you weren’t prepared for. The absolute unwavering stubbornness in his declaration sent tingles through you to places there really _shouldn’t_ be tingling. It was a vow meant to assure you, masked under a playful demeanour, but it felt like more than just one officer having another’s back. It felt like So. Much. More.

“That’s…” You swallowed thickly. “That’s really… _creepy_ , Bucket.” You finished with a shit-eating grin.

A grin that was very quickly and very abruptly wiped off your face.

His hand thudded against the wall beside your head and you were suddenly trapped between brick and mortar, and metal and muscle. His eyes bored into yours, trapping you more effectively than his body was.

“I will keep you safe, do you hear me? You can shove your fear down behind all that sass, but I know it’s there. That’s ok, you’re allowed to be scared, but you don’t _have_ to be, because I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” He avowed.

You wanted to tell him you believed him, you wanted to tease him about his theatrics, to hide your thudding heart behind dry humour.

All you did was nod, a quick jerk of your head to show you understood. He’d ripped the ability to speak from you, and you knew it meant you were in trouble. You knew it by the butterflies in your stomach and the fluttering in your chest.

There was still space between your bodies, he had caged you in but left room for escape, but it felt like no distance at all. It felt like the whole word had been swallowed up by his presence until you and he were all that were left. The only two people that mattered.

His lips parted, and you were so mesmerised by the slight movement that the words falling from them didn’t reach you for a good long moment. Not until he stepped away, releasing you.

“I already checked the window, it’s untouched. Must have picked the lock on the front door. We should go back inside, you can tell us if anything else is out of place.”

He let out a breath as if he’d been holding it, exhaling forcefully and shaking his head like he was trying to clear it. Perhaps your mask had slipped and he’d seen the emotions in your eyes, the ones you were trying to deny were even there. Perhaps you had scared him, made him uncomfortable, and the thought made you panic.

But then the sunlight glinted off of metal, reflecting off his hand and breaking off, scattering across the alley in a myriad of transcendent colours. You’d slipped your hand into his waiting one before you’d even realized you’d done it, your body acting on reflex while your mind caught up.

Your brain cells were left alone in the alley, abandoned by your heart and body as you let Bucky take you by the hand and lead you away. By the time they caught up, they only had one thing to say, one piece of knowledge to impart.

You were completely, absolutely, unquestionably, _fucked_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for being patient, I know this is a day late. I just wasn’t able to focus on writing yesterday. We are now back to our regularly scheduled programming! And, Bucky hath returned in this chapter! 
> 
> I really hope this was worth the wait 💖


	13. The Braidy Bunch

You were afflicted with a severe case of cop-brain. It happened occasionally, you’d get so caught up in a case that you didn’t have room in your head for anything else. It usually happened on cases that were difficult to solve, enigma’s wrapped in mysteries, wrapped in a lack of evidence and a hard to decipher motive.

This case had plenty of evidence. Two faceless corpses, a warning from a dead assassin, a murdered colleague, and a sinister bouquet of flowers.

Motive was also clear. Rumlow was a psychopath and he was fixated on you.

But where Rumlow was, what he would do next, and why he wanted you so afraid? Those were question you desperately needed answers to, and you had no way of knowing where to look.

Your apartment held no clues. If it weren’t for the corpse and the roses left behind, you’d never even have known someone had been there. That thought had sent chills through you, and your grip on Bucky’s hand had tightened for a moment, but then you pulled yourself back from the edge and thrown yourself in crime-solving mode. It was the only way to get through this, to survive this. You had pulled your hand from Bucky’s and put on a profession air that kept the darkness at bay.

You weren’t the lead detective on the case, but assigning tasks authoritatively, you sure as hell acted like you were. Nobody fought you on it, they just nodded and took their marching orders seriously.

Natasha was working her own case, with the new knowledge from you and Bucky. She was pressing on every contact she had in various other law enforcement agencies and scrolling through endless Interpol lists to identify the two faceless victims who had kickstarted the nightmare.

Wanda and Pietro were combing through weeks of backdated security footage from the Chinese restaurant next door, to see if there had been any suspicious activity around your apartment before last night.

Clint and Sam downtown at a well known bar for gang members, grilling his informants for information about Hydra resurfacing.

Steve was fending off Major Crimes, and The FBI. Hydra were a known terrorist organization, which made this case a free for all, and he was working his ass of to keep it getting taken from you.

And Bucky was glued to your side, just like he said he would be. He was taking his vow seriously, and you hadn’t left his sight for more than a few minutes, and that had been when you went to the bathroom. Even when you got back to the Precinct, he had taken up residence in an empty briefing room with you, helping you set up the whiteboards with all the evidence and passing you coloured pins as you asked for them.

Everyone was doing everything the could, but to no avail. By the time darkness had fallen over the streets of New York, you were no closer to solving the case than you had been when the day began. You just couldn’t accept that though, you were convinced there had to be something you missed, and when Bucky had dragged you out of the station to take you home, you had managed to snag a file and smuggle it back to his apartment by hiding it under your shirt.

“I fucking knew you were still working.” He sighed.

You looked up from your cross-legged position on the bed, not even mildly guilty at having been caught. He was glaring at the file in your lap like he could set it ablaze if concentrated hard enough.

“M’not tired. Listen, I was thinking about the flowers. They’re in the lab so we should know more tomorrow, we should go to the florist and see if they remember anything about who ordered them.” You said.

There had been no card with them, because Rumlow hadn’t needed one. The flowers themselves were the message. He was telling you it was him, letting you know he was still alive, making sure you knew he was coming for you. He was lurking somewhere in the shadows, trying to get inside your head, under your skin.

But everyone had thought he was dead. He’d been free and clear, and he’s blown it because he needed to hurt you. He might have thought he was winning, but he’d given you the upper hand, because he’d proven that you were the one who was under his skin. He’d fucked up, and that was how you were going to catch him, you were going to use his obsession against him.

You just weren’t sure _how_ , but you knew you could figure it out.

You were startled out of your reverie by a pillow landing in your lap, and it surprised you enough for Bucky to pluck the evidence file out of your hand.

“What?”

He tossed it onto the corner of the room, and switched the light off so the only sliver of light came from the hallway. Oh, so he was sending you to bed.

“I’m not sleepy yet, what the hell?” You snarled, attempting to get up and retrieve the file.

“You’re not sleepy because you’re not calm.” He said, shoving you back down onto the bed. “You need to stop thinking.”

That was rich, because by the expression on his face, he was thinking very deeply about something. While you were flattened against the headboard and glaring up at him, he re-adjusted the pillow on your lap and with a long, deep breath, climbed onto the bed and lay his head down on it.

“What the _fuuuuck_ is happening?” You whispered quietly, too afraid to speak loudly or move.

It was like some sort of wild animal had climbed onto your lap in a sudden and unforeseen show of domesticity.

“Mindless tasks keep your mind from wandering, and the happier you are, the easier you’ll sleep.” He grunted.

That explained absolutely nothing, until… He swept his hair out from under his neck until it was all fanned out across the pillow.

“Oh my God. Oh. My. God! Ohhhh myyyyy God.” You exclaimed in a hushed and awed whisper. “Are you? Is this? Can I?”

“You know what it is.” He snapped.

“I need to hear you say it, Bucket.”

He scowled angrily at you, which didn’t quite have the effect he was hoping for since he was doing it upside-down from your lap. It was adorable.

“You can braid my hair.” He eventually grumbled, not at all happy about it.

You were thrilled though. The words were music to your ears and you clapped your hands together excitedly before you wiggled your fingers in anticipation. You hadn’t actually thought he would ever, in a million years, actually let you loose on his luscious locks. The first brush of your fingers against the brunette strands felt like victory, and you knew it was a memory you would treasure forever.

You gently pulled your fingers through his hair, working out all the little kinks and knots, careful not to tug too hard. You didn’t want to spook him. He just lay there though, and after a few moments his eyes fluttered closed and all the little line on his face smoothed out as his expression melted into one of relaxation. _He was_ _enjoying_ _this!_

You painstakingly parted his hair into even sections, and pretended you couldn’t hear the way his breathing evened out, but when you gently raked your nails across his scalp to section a parting, you couldn’t pretend you hadn’t heard _that_. It was quiet, but unmistakable, the soft grunt of pleasure that rumbled from his slightly parted lips. As soon as it happened, he froze, unnaturally still.

So you did it again.

As your nails softly dragged across his scalp, his eyelashes fluttered against his cheek and his hands balled into fists at his sides. The back of your neck suddenly felt too warm and your heart did a strange sort of pitter-pat in your chest. All those confusing feelings that were swirling around inside your chest were not any easier to deal with when the object of your affections was in your lap, and all those less confusing feelings south of your chest were not helped by the noises he was making.

You still did it again though.

The involuntary reactions it brought forth, the fact he hadn’t asked or hinted at you to stop, and the endearing blush that tinged his cheeks were all too hard to resist.

It worked though, his plan. Your mind was purged of all Rumlow and case related thoughts, and even the confusing emotional bullshit slipped further away with every lock of hair you twisted. You just lost yourself in the intricate braiding, letting the repetitive actions take up your headspace. By the time you were finished, you were finally calm, blissfully thought free, and relaxed. So was he, if the peaceful expression on his face was anything to go by.

“Bucket?” You hummed softly, tapping him on the shoulder.

Nothing.

“Bucky?”

Oh damn. He was fast asleep.

“Well, fuck.” You whispered to yourself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is shit, i know it's shit, but it was a shitty chapter or no chapter at all 😫


	14. Coffee Run

“Good morning!” You yelled, swanning into the bullpen with a terse Bucky trailing behind you.

Sam, Pietro, Wanda, and Nat looked up from their desks at your loud and overly happy greeting.

“We bought coffee for everyone.” You announced cheerfully, presenting the tray of drinks in Bucky’s hands like you were a showgirl on a daytime game show.

“We?” Bucky scoffed as the precinct descended upon him, giddily searching for the cup with their name on it.

“Bucky paid, I ordered though!”

“Thanks Fury.” Sam said loudly, plucking his cup from the tray.

Everyone else chimed in, eager to show their own gratitude.

“Yeah, thanks Fury.”

“So thoughtful of you, Fury.”

“We owe you Fury.”

Bucky sighed, refusing to give into the goading.

“Did you do something to your hair?” Sam asked him, frowning.

“No.” Bucky snarled, shooting a warning glance at you.

“You sure man? It’s all wavy.” Sam pointed out.

It really was, and you had to bite your lip to stop the giggle trying to break free.

“Oh, ouch.” You winced, putting your palm on the small of your back and pressing.

“What’s the matter with you?” Natasha frowned.

“Hmm? Oh, well…” You paused waiting for the right moment to finish your sentence. “Bucky blew my back out in bed last night.”

It went off without a hitch. Wanda got off the easiest, lightly choking on her mouthful of coffee. Pietro wasn’t so lucky, he snorted so hard that iced coffee came out of his nose.

It was Sam, sweet Sam, who really paid the price for your quip though. He tried to gasp and swallow at the same time, and ended up just spraying a mouthful of coffee right into…

Bucky’s face.

You rolled your shoulders and cackled viciously. That made the pain of having to sleep slumped against the headboard, with a full grown man in your lap, worth it. It even made the terse and awkward moment Bucky woken up worth it. He had jerked awake at the distant sound of his alarm in the other room, squinting up at you with an adorably befuddled expression before the truth of the situation had fully dawned on him. The speed at which he’d shot off of the bed was truly breath taking, and not at all insulting. From there, he hadn’t said more than two words to you all morning, not even fighting you when you insisted on stopping at Starbucks on the way to work. And judging by the murderous look in his eyes while he wiped coffee out of them, that wasn’t going to change anytime soon.

Still worth it.

Sam was bent over double, coughing and laughing at his mishap. You were nearly on the floor yourself.

“I’m not sure which one of you I’m going to kill first, but I suggest you both start running.” Bucky snarled.

“Bring it, Bucket. I ain’t afraid of you, I know all your secrets.” You sniggered, deliberately running your fingers through your hair to make sure he got the point.

“It was an accident. I’m sorry.” Sam wheezed, not looking sorry at all.

“Wait, does this mean that you two _didn’t_ …” Pietro frowned, waving his hand between the two of you.

“No!” You and Bucky said in unison, you with derisive humour, him with offended indignation.

“We didn’t. I just slept funny.” You elaborated, giving Bucky a healthy dose of side-eye for his tone.

There were still droplets of coffee in his hair.

“Hey, Bucket, you’ve got a lil something…” You smirked, gesturing.

Wanda and Pietro hid their faces in their cups to stifle their laughter. You and Sam weren’t so sneaky, you proudly chuckled as he stomped off towards the bathroom. Even Natasha couldn’t hold back her smirk, even as she pointed sternly at the Evidence room.

“You want me to go in there?” You checked, sauntering in the direction she was pointing.

“Good call. You should be a Detective or something.” She joked, following behind you.

You really hoped you weren’t about to be subjected to a day of cataloguing boxes, as a punishment for your shenanigans.

“What’s going on with you and Barnes?” She demanded as soon as the door closed, leaving you alone with her.

Oh, this was much worse.

You briefly considered lying, but you knew she would see right through you, and you were dying to talk to somebody about it all.

“I dunno Nat, it’s weird.” You sighed, pushing a box out of the way so you could perch on the edge of the table.

“What’s weird?” She pressed.

“Bucky’s like… not just a minorly annoying, good Detective.” You frowned. “He’s more. I’ve always _known_ that he was kinda sexy, and friendly, and funny, and kind, but now I _feel_ it. He’s not just there anymore, he’s _there_.”

“I don’t suppose you could wait a couple of months to have this realization?” She wondered, unperturbed by the sudden onslaught of your feelings for a colleague.

“What?”

“Nothing. Never mind.” She sighed. “So there _is_ something going on between you two?”

“No!” You blurted quickly.

She raised her eyebrow, giving you that cool look she usually used on perps to make them sweat. The one that said she knew more than you did, and you were so stupid for ever thinking otherwise, and also she was far better than you in every way and could reduce you to a quivering mess if she ever decided you were worth the two seconds of time it would take her to do so.

She had expressive eyebrows.

“There’s nothing. Nothing has happened, and nothing will.” You elaborated.

That was the truth, and you knew she would know it.

“Why not? And don’t give me the ‘you work together’ excuse, Wanda and Vis pull it off just fine.” She warned.

“It’s not that.” You assured her. “It’s just, Bucky’s so dead against soulmates, and I’m waiting for mine.”

“I know the situation with Rumlow took some of that confidence out of you, but we all make mistakes. It doesn’t mean your own emotions can’t be trusted. You can sit around and wait for a soulmate if you want, but why deny yourself the chance to have a life in the meantime?”

It sounded so reasonable when she said it like that.

“Say I kissed him, and there were no Sparks? I don’t think I can just give up on finding the other half of my soul. But say there were Sparks? He’d push me away. So either way, it’s just going to hurt.” You sighed.

“So you’re going to do nothing?” She asked derisively.

“Not nothing. I’m going to catch Rumlow, and then everything will go back to normal. I won’t be around Bucky 24/7, I won’t get tingles at his intense, protective, smouldering, and he will go back to being Detective Bucket, and nothing more.”

“Famous last words.” She warned.

“Well, if you have a better suggestion, I’m all ears.” You suggested.

“Here’s a stupid suggestion, try talking to him.” She smirked.

You looked at her expressionlessly, and she met your gaze blankly while she waited for you to say something.

“Yeah, that is stupid.” You agreed. “I’m not doing that. I have no intention of ever talking to him.”

The door swung open, and who else would walk through it but Bucky.

“Hey, can we talk?” He asked you, serious face on.

“No!” You yelped, shooting Nat a panicked look. “Uh, we’re busy.”

“No, we’re done. You two can talk as much as you like.” She said traitorously, walking away like a traitor, closing the traitorous door on you and Bucky.

“Hiiiiii. What’s up?” You stammered nervously, casually leaning on an evidence box.

A box which, in keeping with the theme, traitorously slid off the table. Only Bucky’s quick reflexes stopped it spilling it’s contents all over the evidence room floor.

“How are you a police officer?” He sighed.

“Sometimes I accidently fire my gun at the right people?” You winced. “So, uh, what did you want to talk about?”

“Right, that. I think I know how we can draw Rumlow out of hiding, but we need your permission.” He said.

“Well, you’ve got it. Anything to get that bastard.” You said, laughing in relief. 

“Steve wants to call a press conference, to address Officer Cordero’s death. He want’s you to give the official statement.”

“Ok… why me?”

“Because it will be upsetting for you, and you’ll need comforted.” He explained, explaining nothing.

“I’m not following.” You admitted.

“Shocking.” He smirked.

“Just tell me, Bucket.” You snapped.

He swallowed thickly, blowing out a nervous breath.

“I’m going to comfort you. On camera. In a way that is not at all platonic or professional.” He finally said.

“Huh?”

“Rumlow’s obsessed with you, and he won’t take it well if he thinks you’ve found someone else, forged an unbreakable bond with them.” He enlightened, running his fingers through his hair and looking anywhere but at you.

He wasn’t suggesting what you thought he was. Right? There was absolutely no way that Bucky was suggesting that…

“We’re going to pretend to be soulmates.” He said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 💖💖💖


	15. Lights, Camera, Drama

“Good morning. I am Detective Fury, of the 66th Precinct of Brooklyn NYPD.”

That… sounded wrong. You felt like you’d said those words in the wrong order. Your eyes flickered around, looking for someone to reassure you that you hadn’t in fact forgotten how to talk. Steve’s eyes caught yours, and he nodded encouragingly.

“In the early hours of yesterday morning…” You faltered, briefly.

It wasn’t an easy thing to say, especially when you were faced down with a dozen reporters, none who looked even a smidge sympathetic. They looked hungry.

“An officer was…”

They knew what was coming, it was why they were here, and still, they all leaned forward, ravenous eyes piercing your soul.

“Killed.” 

You took a deep breath and started down at the piece of paper in front of you, the one Steve had handed to you before ushering you into the press conference.

And then you crumpled it up.

“Officer Michael Cordero was killed, while he was on patrol duty. He was watching an apartment, because the tenant was being targeted. He drew the short straw, and took the night shift, and it was supposed to be boring, but he got killed. He was mercilessly gunned down.”

You were off book now, and boy, you had a lot to say.

“He was murdered in cold blood, by a _coward_. An enemy that hides in the shadows, because they’re too pathetic to step into the light. The one time they did, they got their asses handed to them, so they scarpered away with their tails between their legs.”

The reporters were murmuring to themselves, greedy little eyes glowing with excitement. Someone put their hand on your shoulder and tugged you back.

“This was a mistake.” Bucky whispered apologetically, trying to subtly pull you away while Steve stepped forward to take your place.

“I’ve got this.” You hissed, shrugging him off.

“Officer Cordero was watching MY apartment, because I was targeted by a member of Hydra. But I wasn’t IN my apartment, I was with my… I was, I was safe. So they killed someone else instead.” You practically yelled.

A wave a frenzy washed over the reporters, and as one, they surged to their feet.

“Did you say Hydra?”

“Hydra are back?”

“Why were you targeted Officer Fury?”

Bucky finally managed to drag you back, and Steve smoothly slid into the space you’d vacated, fending off the reporters questions.

“I’m sorry we made you do that.” Bucky apologised, wrapping his arm around your shoulders.

You’d played your part to perfection though, and now you’d provided the set up, it was time for him to bring it home.

“Officer Fury! What makes you important to Hydra? Is there something special about you?”

Bucky visibly bristled at the loud yell from the front row of reporters, and glared at the man who’d tried to verbally accost you on your way out of the room.

“She’s special. She’s more special than you could know, and Rumlow won’t get anywhere near her, ever again.” He snarled.

You folded yourself into his side, nuzzling into his shoulder.

“That outta do it, any more and we’re laying it on a bit thick.” You murmured, so only he could hear you.

He strode out of the room, pulling you with him. As soon as you were free and clear, you tossed the crumpled up piece of paper Steve had given you into the nearest bin. The blank piece of paper.

“Well. Think they bought it?” You asked cockily.

Of course they bought it. You’d played the part of a distressed damsel to perfection, hell, you almost believed you were loosing it. When Rumlow saw it, he would absolutely believe he had gotten under your skin, and then he’d see Bucky swoop in to defend you, and how affectionate the two of you were.

“I would say they bought it alright. Hell, looking at the two of you, I almost believe you’re soulmates.” Sam interacted, swaggering out into the hallway to join you.

You and Bucky were still wrapped around each other, and now that Sam mentioned it, you could feel Bucky tense up.

“One of the reporters could follow us out, best to keep up the charade.” You shrugged.

“Uh huh, sure you’re not just enjoying your snuggles?” Sam teased.

“Shut up Wilson.” Bucky snapped.

“He’s cosy.” You said casually, at the exact same moment Bucky spoke.

“I’m what?” Bucky spluttered.

“Cosy. Soft. Warm. Like a blankie that’s just come out of the tumble dryer.” You elaborated.

“I’m… a blankie?” He repeated, blinking down at you dumbly.

“Blanket Barnes, serving cuddles and protecting against chilly weather.” You said with a straight face.

“Hey man, it’s an improvement on Bucket…” Sam offered.

Bucky groaned under his breath, shaking his head in exasperation.

“How long to I have to pretend I can stand you?” He muttered, looking pointedly at the door, hoping for Steve to come back out.

But he subtly pulled you in closer, pressing you into his side, his actions in direct contradiction with his words.

“There’s the happy couple. You two look so cute together.” Clint drawled, jogging up the hall towards you.

“A regular Beauty and the Beast.” Sam agreed.

“Don’t call her a Beast, that’s not nice.” Bucky berated.

You let out an indignant squawk.

“Is it too late to pick a different pretend soulmate?” You huffed, eyeing Sam hopefully.

“Are you sure you’re pretending?” Clint wondered, leaning against the wall and eyeing you and Bucky with a speculative look in his eye.

“Say what now?” You asked, dead-pan.

There was no way he’d actually just said that. Right?

“It’s all coming to you a little easy, don’t you think? You’re both way too natural at it, maybe there’s a reason for that?” Clint mused thoughtfully.

Your jaw dropped.

You were going to kill Natasha. There was no way Clint had thought of this all by himself, that nefarious redhead was behind it. You were so busy mentally cursing your best friend, you didn’t even notice that Bucky hadn’t said anything.

“What’s the matter Buck, Kitten got your tongue?” Sam asked, too casually.

“Nothing to say.” Bucky shrugged off. “We work well together, on all our cases. Why would this one be any different?”

“Yeah, what he said.” You agreed.

But now his presence didn’t feel so casual, or safe, it felt loaded. You were too warm, and too trapped.

Bucky wasn’t your soulmate, you were (almost) certain about that. He couldn’t be. But why was he so sure about it? Why was he so utterly unphased by the suggestion?

Why did you care that he didn’t care?

“Oh thank god!” You blurted, as Steve came out of the room, closing the doors on the still babbling reporters.

“Well, that went well.” He winced.

“How well? Define well. Explain yourself.” You demanded, twisting out from Bucky’s embrace and running over to your Captain, hoping everyone would think you were worked up about the reporters, and not flustered by the soulmate issue.

“Let’s go somewhere more private.” Steve suggested, gesturing for everyone to follow him.

He led you all back through the precinct, and one by one, the rest of the squad joined the congregation, until everyone piled into Steve’s office together.

“So, how did it go?” Pietro asked nervously.

“After Fury and Bucky left, the reporter we planted asked if they were soulmates, and I _avoided_ the question. That seemed to solidify it, so there’s going to be no doubt now.”

“Not that we were doubting it to begin with.” Clint stage whispered, waggling his eyebrows at you.

“Sir? Permission to throw a stapler at Barton for being an ass?” You grouched.

“Permission granted.” Natasha cut in, before Steve could say anything.

“I was joking, don’t be so sensitive.” Clint teased mercilessly, sticking his tongue out at you when Steve moved the stapler out of your reach.

“You are officially off this investigation now.” Steve sighed heavily, shoving the stapler in a drawer.

You shrugged. You’d gone into this plan with both eyes open, you knew that there would be consequences for a Detective acting emotional and irrational in public.

“It’s ok. I understand, Steve. It’s not like you’re pulling me off because you don’t think I can handle it, it’s so our plan works. I’m ok with it.” You assured him.

There had to be some kind of action taken, in regards to your behaviour, or else Steve would have to admit it was a ploy. Hydra had spies everywhere, he had to keep the circle small. Besides everyone in this room, only The Commissioner himself knew.

“Good, I’m glad to hear you say that. I’m putting Bucky in charge of the investigation, and I know you’re staying with him, so I hope you can respect his privacy?” Steve prodded, a conspiratorial grin tugging at his lips.

Bucky quirked his eyebrow at the two of you, barely refraining from rolling his eyes.

“I’ll keep her away from the investigation. Of course, I am also looking after her, so she may have to accompany me places, but _not_ in an official capacity.” He agreed, playing along.

“Great, now all we need to do is wait for Rumlow to watch the news. Do you think he has cable in his bad guy lair?” You wondered.

“I think he got the message, and he’ll be in touch soon.” Nat smirked.

There was a palpable tension in the room. Everyone standing there had more than one reason to want to catch Rumlow, and it showed. There was once a time when he’d be standing amongst you, shouldering part of the burden, acting the part of a friend. Or more than a friend.

And then he’d been a part of a nefarious plot to kill your father, and it turned out he had never been on the side of the good guys. He had been evil from the start, he’d just hidden it well.

But he couldn’t hide forever.

“There’s no going back now, we’ve played our move. It’s time for him to make his.” Steve said solemnly.

“And when he does, we’re taking him down, and with him, the rest of Hydra.” You vowed.

For Cordero. For your dad. For Steve. For Bucky.

For yourself.

You weren’t cutting off a head this time, you were going to burn Hydra down and salt the corpses.

Bucky caught your eye, and you could see all your anger and rage mirrored in his gaze. You were on the same page with this.

“We made ourselves the targets, he’s going to be coming for us. And we’re ready, we’ll get him, Kitten.”

“Together?” You asked, semi-jokingly.

Bucky nodded, once, decisively.

“Together.” He decreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, hi. I'm back. I'm sorry if this felt a little rough, I struggled to get back into the swing of it, but I think I sorta pulled it off. I hope so anyway 😂

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a little unconfident with this, so be kind with me and let me know what you thought. General thoughts, vibes, a 'good job' or 'better luck next time', some emoji's etc. 
> 
> I'd love to hear from you, but as always you're not obligated. Put your own comfort first, whether that means slipping me an anon message, telling me every thought you had while reading or just being a silent reader. I appreciate and love every one of you who reads this! 
> 
> Love, Kara aka The Sad Hatter XxX


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